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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28638312">Matthew's Trials</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jupiterra/pseuds/Jupiterra'>Jupiterra</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hetalia: Axis Powers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Guts Everwhere, M/M, Most characters are supporting roles, Murder, Romance, Swearing, kumanjirou is a dog, so much murder</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:15:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>33,666</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28638312</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jupiterra/pseuds/Jupiterra</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Matthew takes a new job at Berg Industries, he makes friends with his high strung boss. Could there be more?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Canada/Netherlands (Hetalia)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Trial Begins</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Thanks to my RP partner, Hanelli, for almost half of the dialogue. We did it, we finally did it.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Matthew had never expected he would be this desperate. The Berg Industries company had a shady reputation around the state. They sold out the communities that built them up generations before. Lives were ruined by such a large conglomerate. Contemplating working for them was worse than working for the devil. It was a sacrifice of principles, of morals, of one’s very soul. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Clearly, the Bible was unfamiliar with the evils of student debt.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew had been a good child, the older dependable sibling. He had manners and wisdom, paired with freckles and wavy locks of blonde. He was the first to actually graduate university in a long time for his family. He was supposed to be the all star, the family champion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite a hockey scholarship and graduating top of his class, he was struggling. It was more of a financial waterboarding. He couldn’t afford to pay off his credit, his school debt, or his rent. In the end he was sleeping on his sister’s couch with a luggage case of worldly belongings. The only thing left of better days was his massive dog, Kuma.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fluffy white dog licked his master’s face, taking up most of the living room. This was not an accomplishment, since they were in a single wide trailer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amelia came out of her room, most of her all American stripper costume on for work. She was Matthew’s brazen and busty sister, tan and freckles just like him. Her blond hair was done up in ringlets tonight, a few curlers still in her loose updo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be sad hun, I’m sure you’ll get a job. In this two horse town, there’s usually something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew sighed and rolled over, groaning into a sequin covered pillow. “I don’t know. All I have is that one job interview, and I’m not… corporate material you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amelia was muffled as she wiggled into a tasteless white dress, her boobs ready to damn near pop out of it. It was slutty by design, of course. “Where is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s uh, Berg Industries.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amelia paused lacing up her white stripper boots. “The place that shut down the mill?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew was ashamed he applied to the place, but he was crushed by four years of medical school debt. He lost everything but his dog and his rusting Honda Civic. He needed this job more than anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, money is money darlin’. What’s the job?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sitting up, Matthew started getting ready. He was supposed to drop off his sister at work soon. “Corporate assistant, or something. Some kind of secretary I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ready?” Amelia prompted, grabbing her sparkly leather purse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew stood, pulling a hockey jersey over his naked torso. It was emblazoned with the town hockey team, the Appleford Warriors. “Yeah, I’ll get the keys.” Kuma was already at the door, wiggling in anticipation. The dog was shedding long white hairs like a machine in the process.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone in the car, the journey began. They drove out of the homey trailer park, past a liquor store, a video rental and convenience store, then merged onto the highway. Appleford technically had a town centre, but the population was so low it was almost a gas station.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For what it’s worth, I think you’re a bright cookie. Momma did right by helping you get into university.” Amelia winked after, forever a friendly town girl. “All I got is my hot body. We’ll make the best of what God gave us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew shook his head, but kept his eyes on the road. Kuma stuck his head out the window, tail wagging like mad. “You’re smart too sis. I don’t know anyone that can grill a steak like you. That’s food smarts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amelia chuckled. “Buttering me up…” She glanced at the strip club as it neared, framed in pink neon with a massive parking lot. “Looks full tonight. Goddamn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was full, packed with truckers and local factory workers. Ever since the club was bought out by Sadik and renovated, it was the only interesting place left in this shit stain of a town. Matthew parked in front of the cherry red doors, handing Amelia her purse. “Knock ‘em dead sis.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Always do. Rock that job interview for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew shouted out the open passenger window as his slutty sister walked away. “You need a ride after?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I’m coming back with Becky-Sue. You iron out your job clothes! They got them crinkles all over!” With that, the golden blonde waved and vanished into the den of debauchery. Sometimes Matthew waited at the end of shifts to pick her up, reading books in the parking lot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Never had he been tempted to go in. For one thing, his sister worked here, just like his Momma had. It felt icky to go into a strip club that employed your family. Another barrier was Matthew’s own preferences. He was quiet about them, almost secretive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Appleford was a classic small town, but it was not paradise. Being gay was not an optimal conversation starter here. Folks were hardly hostile about the subject, but they weren’t enthused to brag about such things either. So it was that Matthew quietly lived his life and preferences. He had dates in the past. He got around, so to speak. It was all a matter of subtleties.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unlike his university experiences, this would likely have no impact on work. It was well known that Lars van den Berg at Berg Industries was straight. He had a string of trashy lovers that could give Amelia’s strip club a run for its money. Without boobs the size of melons, Matthew was just fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now all he had to do was iron out his interview clothes.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Jury</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The corporate headquarters was intimidating. Matthew’s aging vehicle looked like shit in the pristine parking lot, surrounded by big shot brands. His earnestness didn’t fit in with the jaded lobby staff. Matthew’s nervousness was in stark contrast to the other elevator denizens. He was not a natural species in this sea of wallflowers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After getting lost in a maze of glass and wood tones, he was herded to a waiting area on the third floor. He was the last to arrive, all eight other chairs occupied. It was rather jarring to see he was the only man applying for the job. All eight women before him ranged from smartly dressed to downright slutty. It was intimidating as all hell, a military brigade in heels.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A door slammed somewhere, a lady in a scandalous pencil skirt rushed past. She looked as hassled as the Japanese guy that emerged from the very same room. “Sherry Winters?” the Japanese man called out, his accent skewing the words slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A triumphant brunette stood, ready to march to battle in her cute summer dress with a blazer. “Here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew took her still warm seat and  played with the edges of his button up shirt nervously. A familiar voice greeted him two chairs over. It was Melina, from the strip club. Matthew had driven her to the hospital one time and mostly kept in touch since.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was a voluptuous redhead, not bothering to do up the top two buttons of her tightly pressed shirt. “Mattie baby! What are you doing here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew shrugged, whispering “Trying to get a job.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I didn’t know you were this ambitious!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was concerning an already nervous Matthew. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This secretary gig is for the CEO of the entire place. Big money.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At this, Matthew realized his folly. It suddenly made sense why everyone here was dressed to the hilt. He wore but a basic button up and black jeans. He had no idea this job was for the CEO, the man that ran the entirety of Berg Industries.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doomed man muttered to himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh, crap.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Woman after woman paraded past, only to leave in frustration and sometimes tears. Some of the interviews were less than five minutes long. Well, that was not a good sign. Finally, Matthew was alone in the waiting room, trying not to appear timid. He idly wondered if it was working.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Destiny called via a strange Japanese man. “Matthew Williams?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew stood, possessing the maturity to not giggle at L’s shifting into R’s. “Here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This way please.” Matthew was a full head taller than the guy as he followed the employee. He was led into a suave office with the colours of coffee. A blue accent wall and accessories harmonized with a large picture of the CEO on his sailboat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A frazzled looking Lars van den Berg sat behind an imposing desk, fingers tented. A look of stone raked over Matthew’s underdressed form. Sharp green eyes flicked to the Japanese man. “Kiku, what is this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Matthew Williams, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want him. Bring in the next one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Asian looked just as frazzled as his boss. “He’s the last person that applied, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars sighed, running a hand through his once gelled hair. “Fine. Sit down Mark.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew sat, clearing his throat. “It’s Matthew.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was dismissed with a wave of a hand. “Matthew, why do you want to work for this company?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew paused before answering, not wanting to sound rash or panicked. “I was trained in administrative work, and I want to pursue a job in that field.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars squinted in open skepticism at the blonde before him, then the resume on his tablet. “You volunteered for medical community aid. You went to medical school. Why are you applying for administrative work?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was an attack, and nothing less. Truth of the situation was that Mathew applied to everything on every job site available for three months in a row. This was another job interview in a sea of online applications for the determined but poor man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Things don’t always work out like planned, sir.” The words were crisp and to the point, but not bordering on rude. Matthew needed this goddamn job.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thinly veiled aggression faded as quickly as it rose. This Lars guy was just prodding Matthew after all, testing him. There was a slight upward twitch in his flat line of expression. In some dead parallel universe, it might pass as a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t call me sir, I’m not that old yet!” Lars offered, leaning back in his chair. It took a second to realize the man was relaxing. He had been tense up until now, as tightly coiled as Matthew. "You're a damned sight nicer than all those bitches that came prancing through these doors. Honestly! I could see right through them. I would like to avoid the cliche of having an affair with a secretary. It's so overdone."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The CEO had sharply changed gears from hostile to inviting in seconds. Matthew had no idea what to make of it as he was openly complimented. Everyone in town knew this guy was straight, so it was probably how he talked. Still, Matthew blushed slightly. He could feel green eyes eating him up and damn if that didn’t make a gay man purr. “There was a lot of um, suggestive or overly friendly candidates today.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The CEO was less delicate with his words. “Bitches and sluts, all of them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew didn’t so much as flinch at the sharp insults, trained since he was young to ignore malice. Only good behaviour was paid attention to, along with top notch manners. The rules had not applied well to Amelia, fueling her indignant fires of rebellion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars quietly observed the non-reaction, then hummed to himself. “Alright. You start next Monday at six am. I assume you don’t have much else going because… that. I don’t have peasants working in my presence.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew’s clothes were gestured rudely. He only nodded, barely remembering to leave out ‘Sir’. “Understood.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Good. Go away now.” The harried CEO dismissed Matthew with very little professionalism, burying himself in a pile of forms and papers. The Japanese guy showed Matthew the way out of the building, humble and kind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please forgive Mr. van den Berg. He is a very busy man.” A card was then slipped into Matthew’s hands. It was the most expensive suit store within two hours of here. “His favourite store. It might make a better impression.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still dizzy from being hired in under five minutes, Matthew numbly accepted the condolences. “Yes, I’ll check that out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sat in his parked car for ten minutes, slowly processing what just happened. It started with a slow buzz, turning into warm realization. Everything bubbled to a goofy smile as he called home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amelia answered, groggy and probably wretched from sleep. “What.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I GOT THE JOB!” This excitement could not be contained, spilling over the usual dams of calm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew wiggled in his seat belt. “I got the job. I’m an assistant thingy or whatever!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw that’s great hun. I’m just gonna…” The line went dead.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Introductions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>In the stylish confines of Lars’s office, silence reigned. Lars was fully distracted by reports from his six factories and twenty two clients. Kiku ducked in occasionally, having no fear of the rude CEO. The Japanese lawyer had been good friends with the man since university. Only difference was that Kiku switched to a law major while Lars pressed on with his business courses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walking in to grab a few papers, Kiku’s journey was interrupted by a cheeky Lars. “I know you started that ‘sir’ thing. Trying to bug me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiku chuckled. “Did I?” He did, and he would do it again. The raven haired legal advisor thought subtle pranks were hilarious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Never have I heard </span>
  <em>
    <span>so many women </span>
  </em>
  <span>trying to butter me up in a short span of time. I could see right through all of them, you know. Haven't you wondered </span>
  <em>
    <span>why </span>
  </em>
  <span>most of every staff member here is male?" He asked. This was a trick question at this point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiku went along with this, only the slightest bit sarcastic. It was a super power of his to say horrible things but seem polite about it. “Do tell me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's a damn sight nicer than having boobs hanging out of blouses. All of 'em. Geez, some of them look like hookers. I don't want that around here. Too many distractions," Lars prattled on. He had seen more than enough scenarios where women ultimately ended up distracting the men, and getting nothing done. It was like he was speaking from previous experience.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiku sighed, thinking of the many applicants fondly. “You couldn’t hire at least one of them? They were all beautiful.” He clutched his papers to his chest, more than approving of the female form.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Too fake. And too distracting," Lars mumbled a few moments later as he turned his attention back to the pile of papers in front of him. There were just </span>
  <em>
    <span>so many </span>
  </em>
  <span>he had to deal with today.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiku admired his boss’s work ethic, but this was pathetic. The last secretary had quit in a huff and no one man could deal with the resulting mess. Even the Japanese man, a passionate workaholic himself, could recognize this. “You’re behind as it is. You should come to Birds of Paradise with me later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, Birds of Paradise, the only decent strip club in the entire shitty town. The owner, Sadik, knew Lars well enough due to his familiarity. They were almost friends, in a fucked up business sort of way. Lars was often Kiku’s designated driver, stewing at the bar with a soda.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're always there. Can't get enough of the women there I take?" Lars teased back. He knew that Kiku had a thing for cleavage. The bigger and bouncier they were, apparently it was better for the Japanese man. What was so fascinating with those things anyway? He could never understand the appeal… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But of course, he couldn't let the other workers know about his private musings about female breasts in general. Mostly he went along with things, surviving his own corporate structure. "Looking for a lap dance or two?" Lars egged the other on a few moments later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They have a girl there, Miss America. She is… she is beyond definition. A show stopper.” Kiku was </span>
  <em>
    <span>such</span>
  </em>
  <span> a pervert, but he was hardy and dependable. There were very few people in Lars’s life that had been so helpful, especially in legal takeovers and dealing with breakups.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh my god, don't tell me you already checked her out," he teased while holding his hands up in mock-celebration. "Always going for the new girls. Don't you have a favorite among them?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiku shook his head in amusement. “I don’t judge God’s beautiful bounty. I just appreciate it. Don’t work yourself to death.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure you do.” Lars was already lost in his work, scrutinizing a file.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiku left him alone quietly to exist in his tomb of paper. Lars would suffer many hours in this fashion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiku arrived home, deciding against visiting his usual haunts. Unlike Lars, he defied the standards. He lived far from work, in the nearest city. Lars was drawn to Appleford like a trapped moth, bound to the place of his humble birth. Kiku began life here as an exchange student over a decade ago. He had no attachment to this state, or even this country.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only things he cared about were his tropical fish, his family still in Japan, and Lars. The quirky guy was his only true friend, a real stand up guy. Kiku couldn’t even count how many times Lars brought his drunk ass home and fed the fish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It made Lars all the more pitiable. He must be crushingly lonely. Even when he was dating that exotic dancer, he always looked so tired. How could anyone be depressed with a sexy dancer for a girlfriend? Kiku had no idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Truth be told, Kiku was sick of seeing his friend mope at the bar with a soda. There had to be a girl out there that could fill that money lined hole in his heart. It would be very convenient if that girl was found in the confines of Birds of Paradise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe Kiku should investigate his favourite bar sometime this week. It couldn’t hurt to be thorough in investigating possible dates for Lars.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. New Guy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Matthew had a very rough first month. First there was the general hazing culture of office life. It was always a gamble with new hires to see if they stayed. Matthew had watched this process years before, once more on the receiving end. No one bothered to call him by his name for a month. Aside from Kiku, the one training him for the assistant position, no one talked to him unless needed. He was a ghost in this corporate waste land, and likely would remain so for a while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time was mired in confusion on another front. Lars had nothing but nice things to say about Matthew. The new hire had barely accomplished anything, still catching up on his predecessors’ giant mess. The first three weeks was only catching the phone while waist deep in mislabelled files.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew’s gay radar was pinging constantly. All this friendly behaviour from the salty business man was so damn unusual. Lars didn’t treat anyone else in the building so… sweetly. It was startling for some, and enough to make Matthew seek his sister’s counsel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a balmy Saturday afternoon with both siblings on the lawn outside. They both sat in water filled kiddy pools with umbrellas, struggling not to melt in central United States heat. The air conditioning in the single wide trailer finally died a few days prior.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kuma was sitting in his own pool littered with ice cubes, cursed by thick fur. The pet panted as they all suffered in summer heat. Amelia sucked a popsicle in her shaded pool while listening to Matthew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, he brought me a latte and told me I looked nice in my shirt. But then he turns around and kisses this bitchy girlfriend named Tiana, or Tiffany, or Tanya… Fuck I don’t know. It’s so confusing because I was sure he was gay. Like, one million percent gay. Now I have no idea and I’m all bothered over probably nothing.” Matthew paused ranting to splash cool water on his shirt garbed upper body. He was very self conscious about being nude.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe he’s bi, or poly. It’s rare but hey. I charged double for that stuff in highschool.” Amelia replied flippantly. Of course she would suggest a sexy solution.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t grab my millionaire boss by the junk just to test if he’s gay or whatever. That’s insane.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amelia lowered her pink heart shaped shades, extra pouty and sweet. “Why not? I do that all the time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew rolled his eyes, too lazy to move much else in the heat. “I would get fired.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amelia sighed and leaned more into the water, splashing as she shifted around her bikini clad body. “I guess, ya big baby. You could at least do the meet-cute face.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some of the things that fell out of her face never made sense. Matthew gawked a moment, experiencing such miscommunications. “A meat what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amelia gestured with a roll of her free hand, now finished her orange popsicle. “You know, the meet-cute face, like this.” She hooded her eyes by looking down a moment, then smiled shyly as she glanced up and batted long eyelashes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. That was very very cute. Even a thoroughly gay Matthew was taken back at the gesture. “How did you do that? That’s adorable!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So it was that Matthew spent an hour in a shitty water pool, making awkward faces at his stripper sister. It was unknown if this dumb gesture would accomplish a single thing.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>When Monday rolled around, the heat was crushing. Thank the god of air conditioning for blessing Berg Industries HQ. Matthew was thankful to be at his desk, taking in the comforts. Any minute now, Lars would walk in, whistling a merry tune. He would have coffee, from an unknown diner, ready for two.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The whistling was a very new symptom of something unknown. No one at work was willing to address or name it. Prior to Matthew’s arrival, the boss was supposedly brooding and miserable. Hanging up the phone, Matthew recorded a new appointment in his book calendar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now was the time to summon every ounce of polite charm Matthew possessed. This would be the telling display, the last test. If Lars looked disgusted or completely uninterested, Matthew would respect all boundaries. He would have to get his gaydar checked out, but he would respect the workplace all the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There Mr. van den Berg was, strolling in like he owned the world. Handsome, obviously fit. In some respects, he owned Appleford. Berg Industries owned the local mine, textile factory, and sponsored local community events as tax breaks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure enough, there were two gourmet coffees, with Mr. Honda not far behind. The Japanese man merely waved at Matthew as he passed, arguing in his native tongue on the phone. Lars chuckled as his co-worker and obvious friend brushed passed. Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>chuckling</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Lars was feeling downright jolly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s probably his sister Mei. They can scrap like you’ve never heard… and one latte.” Lars spoke warmly, placing the beverage on Matthew’s desk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wavy blonde took the beverage and sipped. It was sweetly perfect. Now was the time, and Matthew had to dazzle. He looked down, then glanced up shyly. In sincere attraction, Matthew batted his lashes. “Thank you, Lars.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars froze up, the grip on his own coffee tightening to white knuckles. He paled, stepping back once in silence. Was this a good reaction? It was impossible to tell, but it was hardly disgust or disinterest. This was intriguing, and possibly worth investigation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment was shattered by a phone call down the hall. Long eye contact broke like static, Lars drained and exhausted. Matthew filled the space between them, doing his job. “So, the numbers came in from Lux corp. Your brother was planning to come in and discuss the details.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars looked ready to have a heart attack, a wheezing noise escaping him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew went on, watching his boss slowly resume normal colour. “Knowing how well your last phone call with the </span>
  <em>
    <span>other</span>
  </em>
  <span> Mr. van den Berg went, I took the liberty to request a forwarded copy. We can discuss them over lunch if you wish.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars was more or less functional, but couldn’t look at Matthew more than a few seconds at a time. “That’s um, fine. Just leave it on my desk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew could see it, Lars struggling to process whatever was going on inside. It was immensely encouraging. “The usual ramen for lunch Mr. van den berg? A new place opened up on the edge of the city. I can get it delivered.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“O-okay, I’m. Um. Office now.” With that, the normally confident man slipped into his office. He wasn’t acting like himself at all, unless he happened to be a scared teen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mail delivery guy, having witnessed the second half of this bizarre encounter, furrowed his brows. He chatted as he dumped off ten more letters for Mr. van den Berg. “What happened to him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew sipped his delicious coffee, smiling sweetly to himself. “No idea.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Plane Tickets</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The weather outside was fair for the month of June and Lars’s day couldn’t be better. It had to be pretty good, if the boss was whistling a merry tune as he worked. Matthew noticed the quality of life throughout the building was nicer when the CEO wasn’t breathing fire at everyone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ever since the recent reaction to Matthew’s cute face, the secretary was toeing the line. This was while recording every possible gay behaviour of his boss in a secret booklet. Matthew’s gaydar hadn’t been wrong yet, and he was going to prove it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The morning mail was dumped off at Matthew’s desk in a drunkenly tied bundle. One letter stuck out from the rest in gold calligraphy. Even the envelope paper was a different quality, softer on the fingertips. Well, Lars had </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice</span>
  </em>
  <span> mail today.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew itched to know what it was, peeking into the classy office. “Mr. van den Berg? An unusual letter has arrived for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking up from the papers that he was reading, Lars sighed. “How many times do I have to tell you—stop calling me that. Don’t make me much older than I already am,” he grumbled without looking up. “What kind of unusual letter is it?” he inquired a few moments later, deciding to humor the other man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, the writing is in gold, and it’s rather heavy for a letter.” Matthew explained himself, putting the letter on the desk with aplomb. Whatever was inside had to be really neat if it warranted gold calligraphy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars felt his blood run cold at the mention of gold writing. There was only one person who sent letters that way. It sickened him when he recognized the handwriting on the envelope. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ugh. This again?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Clearly, his older brother Claude didn’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>when</span>
  </em>
  <span> to stop fucking flexing. It drove him up the wall whenever he would send out these invitations. He cringed at the ugly thoughts that were surfacing the longer he looked at the frilly paper, the gold handwriting, the sheer haughtiness that radiated from something so innocent-looking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Letting out an exasperated sigh, he reached for the letter and scowled at it, looking at the curling letters in disgust. “Really?” he grumbled, picking up a paper cutter and slicing it open. He was not in the mood to argue with the ostentatious crap that his brother always projected as a show of superiority. The paper envelope fell to the table as he read the invitation, eyebrows raising the more he scanned the page.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a party, and Claude was celebrating by showing off his new yacht. Lars was invited, and expected to bring a presentable date. That was all there was to read. Two already purchased plane tickets to the damn event fell out of the envelope. It seemed Claude wanted to flaunt his wealth, as if getting plane tickets was out of Lars’s reach. As if plane tickets were </span>
  <em>
    <span>pennies</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew didn’t know Claude as well. He was such an innocent secretary, yet to meet the rich prick in person. The employee spotted the tickets. “Oh wow, plane tickets. Are you going on vacation?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish,” he replied, barely able to hold back a very pointed eye roll. “My fucking brother’s being an idiot, always wanting to show his junk off,” he continued. “Some stupid party.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew caught the letter as Lars threw it away in disdain. “Is it a very large party?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Apparently. The gall of him to send plane tickets. As if he thinks I can’t get them on my own,” he added with a disgusted snort. “Pathetic.” He then returned his attention to the paperwork in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew read the letter without asking, not fearing for his employment. One of his technical jobs was reading things so Lars didn’t have to. It was a means of filtering out the crazies, in simplest terms. Neatly folding up the letter, Matthew pursed his lips in thought. He looked to Lars with a soft expression. “May I offer an opinion, Lars?” The name was spoken with caution, the secretary unused to such equality.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” he inquired, looking up at the sound of his name. “What are you proposing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew twiddled his thumbs, a little nervous. “Well, as your administrative assistant, I see everything that exits and enters this room. Lux Corp is hosting this thing, and Lux Corp reaches farther than we could hope, given our annual operating budget. You could attend, purely to… borrow some of your brother’s clients.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars’s forehead twitched at the thought. Him, ‘borrow’ some of the people that had laughed his ass off the previous year? That would be a damned sight to see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look. I… shit didn’t exactly go down so great the last time he flaunted his wealth like this. It’s… something I would rather stay out of,” he replied haltingly, cringing at the bad memories that were resurfacing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was remembering </span>
  <em>
    <span>that incident </span>
  </em>
  <span>all over again. Was the other really determined to embarrass the fuck out of him at every single opportunity? If so, it was working.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew was skeptical, leaning back after sitting in an available seat. “This time could be better?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh no, Matthew. You don’t know how my brother operates. He’s determined to embarrass me every single chance he gets. Especially in front of prospective clients. That’s what he did last time…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars’s calm facade was showing signs of cracking. He didn’t want to relive the anxiety-riddled mess that was the previous encounter, exactly a year ago. It still gave him nightmares sometimes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew smiled and offered his condolences. “I’m sure if you don’t bring a garden variety prostitute to this event, it should go fine.” Sheer dislike of loose women was plastered over to something plausibly polite on tone alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who do you suggest I bring along, then?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in Matthew’s direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps Mr. Honda could…” Matthew paused, realizing how pervy his job trainer was. Getting the friendly guy drunk on a boat stuffed with models was a mistake. “There’s um…” Matthew was genuinely lost on who could go. Most of the staff were critically important, or possessed uneducated humour. That was the result of hiring locals. “I don’t really know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars already knew where the conversation was headed the moment Matthew had mentioned Kiku. It was an utter disaster, honestly. Get the Japanese man drinking, and chaos basically happened. This was why Lars was the designated driver whenever Kiku was shitfaced drunk out of his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t think of anyone else, really… unless…</span>
  <em>
    <span> you </span>
  </em>
  <span>want to come?” Lars said from out of nowhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew was shocked, honoured, and deeply touched by the offer. He had never even left the state, despite owning a passport. He had never been on a plane before. Matthew was truly a peasant in comparison to some of the business men here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… I would be honoured to go, if it makes corporate diplomacy easier.” For all these cordial words, the wheaten blonde couldn’t help but blush faintly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You would be much more manageable than Kiku, I’ll admit that,” Lars mumbled, not realizing that just outside the office, a sneezing noise came from the Japanese man. It was like the other was listening in… or was he?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get something nice to wear,” Lars commanded. He did not want to fuck this chance up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew said nothing more, smiling as he left the office.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Two weeks later it was the day of departure. Matthew was miserable getting up so damn early. It really was his own fault though. He insisted on meeting at work which was thirty minutes away. Of course, getting ready for work was its own routine. Standard Matthew Williams was absolutely unacceptable in his hockey jersey shirts and static wild hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the cool chill of early morning, not every essence of Matthew’s true life could be masked. He was dumped off in the parking lot by Amelia at 5:30 in the morning. She yawned from behind the wheel of the aging Civic. The American sweetheart was only in sweatpants, a bra, and hair curlers. “You dun have fun okay. Take lotsa pictures. Bring me back a palm tree.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew gestured to his improvised luggage behind him on the ground. “I can’t fit a palm tree in my hockey bag.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amelia rolled her eyes. “You could try, ya know.” Watching Matthew check the car for anything he forgot, she dragged acrylic nails across the steering wheel. “Remember everything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew nodded through the rolled down window. “Yes… but you have to feed Kuma, and let him run around. Near the abandoned strip mall is his favourite.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That place is creepy, Mattie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It wasn’t abandoned when I walked him there as a puppy. I’m not breaking his routine. Kuma needs structure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amelia shook her head but complied. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I’ll take your obsessive dog to a murder zone for exercise. I’m not picking up those giant horse shits though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew shrugged. “The place is abandoned, he can shit everywhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amelia’s phone pinged, grabbing her attention. She giggled, texting whoever it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The older protective brother furrowed his brows in suspicion. “Who’s that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothin’. Bye Darlin’!” With that, the Civic ripped into the morning mists, blasting terrible music. Matthew was alone in front of the four story building, a monolith of glass. There were no lights yet from within, orange glow cast by distant street lights. Matthew glanced around nervously. He sat on the steps of the entrance, shivering from chill and loneliness. Maybe he should have been picked up at home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No. No, that was a huge mistake. Lars would have questions about Matthew’s quality of life. These were questions that Matthew was unwilling to answer. He still had terrifying debt and no bed to speak of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ten long minutes later, a noise echoed in thin mist. A gleaming black car pulled in from the highway, the colour of liquid sex. It was some hot shot brand you saw in Hollywood films, screaming silently of luxury. The mechanical beast parked before him, a window rolling down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars was behind the wheel, permanently attached to a cup of coffee. “Hey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Matthew greeted meekly, more than a little turned on. He could be a material man from time to time, with his own private needs. This car and this man was smoking hot in the prelude of day, and that was the truth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars popped the trunk, gesturing silently. Matthew loaded in his hockey bag, then climbed in the passenger seat. Heated leather seats. This rolling art piece had divine heated leather seats. Matthew stabbed the seat preferences a few times, accepting a perfect latte as it was offered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A hockey bag?” Lars grunted, driving back to the highway after seat belts were clipped on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dog ate my luggage.” Matthew lied. He didn’t own luggage. The black case he borrowed was his sister’s and she tainted it forever by storing sex toys in it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have a dog? I didn't peg you as a pet kind of guy,” Lars hummed as he drove down the highway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew had chatted with several co-workers about his dog. He had a picture of his dog on the desk during work. Anyone with a brain knew Matthew loved animals and had one waiting at home for kisses. Frankly, Lars’s observation skills were baffling. Still, Matthew didn’t want to sound bitchy about it. That was </span>
  <em>
    <span>rude</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I do, a Samoyed mix. His name is Kuma and he’s a bundle of love… and hair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pet hair is a bitch to get out of furniture… try having rabbits shed all over the place,” Lars grumbled. He could only groan as he remembered that he had asked Kiku to pet-sit for him while they were away. Silly creatures.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope this trip doesn't end in disaster,” he added a few moments later as he yawned a bit before turning his attention back to the road. Unlike most rich people who had drivers and other fancy trappings, he only had himself to drive around. Never mind that, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Did Lars even have time for pets in his crazy life? Matthew was the surprised one now. “You have rabbits? You said you were going home to handle money.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One of my rabbits is named Money. Egotistic little shit lord that he is. Always trying to hump random household objects every time. It's like he's constantly in heat, or something,” Lars said, shaking his head slightly at the mention of one of his several pets at home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pet lover in Matthew emerged. “Who’s watching them during the trip?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kiku is. He has his own pets, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew laughed, for this was supposed to be a fun trip. He could afford to  trash his job trainer a little. “Can he take care of anything? His brain seems to be set on women.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He owes me,” was all Lars mentioned afterward. It was the truth… to some level. Whenever the Japanese man would go out drinking, he was stuck as the designated driver and man did it suck not being able to knock back a few shots whenever they went out for a night on the town.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew eyed Lars’s personal choices in clothes. They were designer brand, nice, and probably cost an entire paycheck. Ah hell, he was definitely under-dressed again. “So, how fancy is the party?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you ever been to high society gatherings while you were in medical... wait. Pft, no, I don't think you know,” Lars mused as he stole a glance at Matthew via the inside mirror. “There's a stain on your shirt, by the way. Did you… did you even iron it before heading out today?” he inquired. God, were they going to have to look for a nice store to buy clothes at when they got to the airport?!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew didn’t own an iron. He didn’t own more than a dozen nice shirts. He didn’t own a bed. He had leftover burritos for breakfast after a cold six minute shower. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A trailer shower</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You needed to be an acrobat for that stunt of hygiene. Matthew did his best to not be resentful because Lars didn’t know any of this. “I was in a rush this morning is all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thankfully we are going to arrive early at the airport. I am not going to have you show up there looking like a frat boy who stepped out of an all-nighter punch-drunk. </span>
  <b>
    <em>I insist</em>
  </b>
  <span>. You need a wardrobe makeover,” Lars continued as he kept his attention on the road.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew chewed his lip, stifling the urge to punch his boss in the face. It was a friendly offer, but coming from a rich man like Lars, it was haughty and slightly insulting. “Have you ever played hockey?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I've watched a few matches. How even do they not walk away with bashed-in skulls and all that,” was all he mentioned after that. He knew of the brutality on the ice. How did one even survive that, </span>
  <em>
    <span>repeatedly, </span>
  </em>
  <span>was beyond him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew was unbearably proud of his second greatest passion. He was a gladiator of ice and blood, and regretted very little. “Well, you get some injuries. It’s worth it. It’s the greatest sport on earth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, don't tell me </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>play ice hockey?” he inquired, looking at Matthew via the mirror again. “I thought you were in medical school until recently?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew picked his words carefully. Conversation was straying close to sensitive areas. “I play hockey. I played for the varsity team until two years ago. That’s when I had to come back home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was at this point Lars's lips pursed silently, before turning his attention back to the road. Money was the root of everything, after all. Student loans were a bitch and a half to deal with. He had gotten lucky with his and managed to pay them off in time, but was pretty sure Matthew was having trouble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just how much trouble? Even if he wanted to pry, he decided not to. At least, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>yet </span>
  </em>
  <span>anyway. He didn't want to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> creepy boss who meddled with his employees' private lives.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway. You are getting a makeover. No questions, no ifs, or buts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew’s sass emerged, rare and seemingly endangered. Lars had only witnessed it two weeks ago when the secretary directly called Lars’s female companions ‘garden variety prostitutes’. The tone used was warm and confident. “I’m not getting my hair cut. It took forever to grow out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure about that,” he mused, eyes still on the road. How much further was the airport, anyway? He was dying to take a drink of his coffee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely, I inherited the best part of my mom that way,” Matthew’s vanity dried up as quickly as it appeared. He sipped his latte shyly. “Well, I think so anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just don't make a fool out of yourself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I mean it. </span>
  </em>
  <span>These people are going to eat you alive when they see beyond what you present to them.” God, Lars had to warn Matthew about the </span>
  <em>
    <span>lion's den </span>
  </em>
  <span>as much as possible. A bunch of high-society snobs, and he was just picking at the leftovers. Forever doomed to be on the sidelines.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew didn’t intend to be so damn flirty. He was in a nice ride with a handsome man while gay as the day is long. He couldn’t suppress his entire self to a neat little package. “I survive you, don’t I?” This was spoken in clear affection, however unintended. Matthew hitched a breath, realizing he was spilling homosexuality all over the place. Being tired did that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a long pause as he drank his coffee, gauging for any negative reaction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean it. They may eat you alive. So please, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please </span>
  </em>
  <span>be careful around them,” Lars reinforced his earlier warning. Was he speaking from experience? Quite possibly. There was a hint of a grin on his face. Nobody had ever lasted as long as Matthew without getting on Lars's frazzled nerves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nervousness settled in Matthew’s bones. It was replaced by relief and confirmation. Lars was gay, and the secretary knew it. Matthew openly flirted with him many times and always had positive reactions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now was the responsible thing to do, leave it alone or investigate further? The choice was a hard one to make, and Matthew really wanted his coffee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the ride was quiet as they both absorbed their daily wake up juice. Matthew only fidgetted as the airport neared, on the edges of the closest city. Lars didn’t know Matthew was afraid of heights, and had never been on a plane. That was </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Everything was just fucking peachy. Matthew could pretend he did this like... one hundred times.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, the car pulled up in the airport's parking lot. “Fuck, this is going to be annoying,” Lars began searching for the valet service that would take care of the car while they were away. It took several more minutes of driving around before they finally pulled up at the main entrance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go get your things out. We're going to shop for your wardrobe before we get on the plane.” Sure enough there were high end clothing shops and a mall within sight of the airport.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not that bad!” Matthew protested but obeyed, pulling out his hockey bag with ease. He was rather strong despite his soft appearance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Badly</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They'll tear you apart if you show up looking like that,” Lars fumed quietly as he went to get a cart for their luggage. “I was torn apart by that crowd previously.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew gaped a little as they walked along, the car behind them tended to. “No, you look so professional. What is there to pick at?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Knowing my older brother? Everything about me,” Lars replied with a flat look on his face. “He does this intentionally. You'll know why when you see him for yourself. He's so full of himself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Off they went to the retail outlets nearby. Lars insisted on replacing even the dingy hockey bag, everything had to go. Matthew’s shirts and pants were replaced with snug quality choices. Dressed in complementary colours and soft fabric, Matthew looked miserable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I look really pretentious, it’s horrible.” The wheaten blonde complained, glancing with longing at his old linen shirt on the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars’s mind was clearly somewhere else, eyes settled on Matthew’s showcased form. “I don't know why you hide this. You should show it off more,” he gestured in a circular motion. It meant, 'twirl around for me'.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew had to be blind not to notice roving eyes, but he was very professional. Well, he was trying to be. His boss was making things very difficult. Buying Matthew coffees, clothes, and now eating him alive with those green eyes. This had to be intentional!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The secretary did a very unenthusiastic twirl all the same. “None of it is plaid,” he grumbled openly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Plaid’s terrible anyway...” Lars had to take some type of effort to look at his classy watch, then sat up sharply. Why he owned a fancy timepiece was unknown, aside from possible status. The spiky blonde used his phone more. “We have to go, </span>
  <em>
    <span>right now</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s thirty minutes until the plane arrives and we have to deal with lines.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thirty minutes? Do we have enough time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew’s concerns were cut off quickly. Four new outfits and basic luggage were quickly paid by Lars. It was a hell of a sight, considering how cheap the man could be. Matthew didn’t have time to politely contest the obscene price, dragged to a departure gate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t mean to be so heavy on his feet. Fear was poorly masked as the approach to the security gates loomed. Matthew wasn’t afraid of the security check. He was pensive over the whole ‘flying in a combustion fueled death tube’ experience. For once, Lars was actually perceptive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had both been given a quick scan and pat down, ready to board the death machine. With ten people ahead, they had a minute to chat. Lars was direct, like usual. “What’s the matter with you? You’re all twitchy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine.” Matthew barely breathed between words, entirely focused on not freaking out worse. He was controlled as he handed over his ticket. The blonde managed to breathe as he took his seat, numb to the comforts of first class flight. The world narrowed and froze in jaunts as Matthew struggled to function at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was in a plane, that was going to fly in the sky. It was a distance so high any living creature would be a bloody smear. Given all the ways a plane could explode or crash, Matthew was frazzled. As the pilots introduced themselves and started take off, Matthew didn’t hear a thing. It didn’t matter, since he wore his seat belt as soon as possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An alien sound made Matthew let out a tiny shriek. It was his boss trying to talk to him. “Matthew, what the fuck is going on? You’re shaking like crazy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-n-nothing.” The lie was stuttered as white knuckles gripped the cushioned armrest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars rolled his eyes. “It’ll be fine. This isn’t your first flight is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew screwed his eyes shut as the plane began to take off. Through gritted teeth he growled his responses. “Yes it is. I don’t like heights.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars was quick to criticize, like all the others. “Did you honestly think we would drive to New York? That would take days!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew’s suffering was silently observed. In a rare spark of emotional intelligence, Lars dropped his salty behaviours. “Just, I don’t know. Try breathing normally.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The terrified secretary gasped once or twice like a suffocating fish. It was better than him slowly turning blue before. Matthew was only whispering now. “I can’t look.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars was surprisingly confident as he spoke. “Don’t! Just breathe… Easy breaths. See? You can breathe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A warm hand of comfort slid over Matthew’s own. He clung to the entire arm like a python, trembling violently. Despite this, his breathing evened out slightly. Matthew was very much a scared bunny right now. Soothing bunnies was a skill Lars mastered long ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe distracting the secretary would stop death by heart attack? “C’mon, talk. What’s your favourite food?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“P-p-pancakes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You gonna get syrup on those pancakes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, Matthew was calmed. He survived the flight, even if the blood flow in Lars’s arm was cut off. Lars didn’t understand how a fear of heights could get this bad. Upon touching ground, dependable Mr. Williams was back in action. He acted like the last three hours of shaking and sniffling didn’t happen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Lars hailed a taxi, his optimistic assistant spoke up in a cheeky manner. “Well, we will arrive at the party in one piece.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The CEO could only glare back at his employee, frustrated.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Yachts And Assholes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>At first Matthew thought the yacht was a very small boat. It grew as they approached, until it was bigger than any house Matthew ever saw. The taxi drove closer to the Marina, an older structure gated high with metal and guards. Before all of this, there was a prestigious yacht club. The grand building was worked stone and gargoyles, all classic turn of the century stuff.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars seemed familiar enough with this opulent environment, not sparing a single glance. Matthew took stealthy glances around, curious but hardly naive. Lars had warned him a dozen times that the uber wealthy were essentially social predators.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A man in no less than gold accessories and white greeted them at the gates. His hair was decadence styled in a blonde fringe, paired with blue eyes. From stylish smirk to designer high collar, he was designed for wealth. He had the skin of a man that had never burnt in the sun, or broken a sweat in a field.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars started out on the offensive immediately upon leaving the taxi. “Claude. How modest of you to walk on the ground instead of being carried by slaves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a humanitarian, not a savage, Lars.” This wealthy sibling was prepared.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Humanitarian my fucking ass,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the salty younger sibling thought as he absently looked beside him. With Lars warning Matthew to be on his best behavior, he had forgotten to warn him about his obnoxious older brother. The CEO of LUX Corporation in the flesh.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Claude van den Berg.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars was tempted to snap back, but decided to save the snark for when he could spot an opening. "Flaunting your wealth again I see," he growled, teeth clenched in his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude grinned, so disgustingly proud. “Bearing the very best of your mediocrity, it seems. Who is this… gentleman?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars could only snarl in the back of his mind. "He's my secretary, Claude. I know you don't need one, but he's a very important employee at work," he continued to growl. There was a definite edge in his voice, before he shot Matthew a warning glance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Done taking in his surroundings, Matthew’s serene expression settled on conversation. “Mr. Williams, if you please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude squinted at this new figure, this toy in his social landscape. He was exceptionally haughty today, obviously not going to shake hands. It was for the best that Matthew didn’t offer such plebeian gestures. “I see, not your little lawyer friend? Surely your last companion would have made a colourful return?” The tone was warm, but the content was bleeding sharp memories.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't talk about Kiku like that, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you have no right</span>
  </em>
  <span>." Lars’s stare hardened on the bastard in front of him. "He is currently busy </span>
  <em>
    <span>elsewhere</span>
  </em>
  <span> with my work." Lars hoped that Matthew caught the drift and did not slip up and tell him that the Japanese man was actually pet-sitting back home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew had seen Lars become angry before, and this was a pre-colour change. There were many phases of rage his boss could rotate through. None of them were ideal in front of a New York yacht club. Matthew softly touched Lars’s hand, a brief but deadly suppressant. The boss basically became a happy mute whenever this occurred. It had been an accidental discovery on the plane, initiated by Lars.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Words were spoken by the secretary with delicate precision. “We do have a splendid yacht to see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rendered temporarily mute by the touch, the anger that was simmering to the surface receded. It was replaced with utter silence and ignored emotion. "Go on," Lars managed after a while, mostly calm. "Lead the way... </span>
  <em>
    <span>Claude.</span>
  </em>
  <span>" The older brother had won... </span>
  <em>
    <span>for now.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The older brother was surprised by the sudden drop in conflict. Normally Lars was swearing like a commoner in minutes. Instead he was incredibly civil. Well, no matter. Claude was absolutely certain his bastard brother would come out of this party as the clown he was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The real mystery was Mr. Williams. He was made of much more stable materials. This was unusual for something dredged from the hell pit known as Nebraska. Claude agreed with a nod. “Of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three men entered via the yacht club, walking past rooms of wealth. Distracted socialites, almost entirely white males, flitted about like birds of paradise. There were often sexy women or pandering servants not far away, orbiting them like comets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Past the dens of luxury was a large marina of wood and stone. Yachts, sailing ships, and speed boats were parked here by the dozen. It was a flotilla of cash and concentrated ambitions Matthew or Lars would never rival. It would be foolish to try.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude’s yacht was a gleaming white monster that took up the largest mooring point. It was bigger than the building Matthew worked in, and twice as shiny. The filthy rich CEO was obviously aware of this, greeting a few other people they passed. Vapid remarks of “Isn’t she beautiful?” or “Worth every dollar!” was exchanged in equal amounts. It applied to the boats and the women around Matthew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Having nothing constructive to say as they stood beside the yacht, Matthew looked to Lars. The small town hockey player was feeling disgusted by the entire encounter. The grandiosity of this place couldn’t mask so many toxic personalities.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I take you're not impressed," Lars leaned towards Matthew, whispering so softly only the two of them could hear. "It's only going to get worse from here." He turned his attention back to the ostentatious display of money and power in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It reminded Lars of all the insecurities he kept deeply hidden in the back of his head. Looking around with a disinterested gleam in his eyes, Lars continued to watch as more of the filthy-rich. The high-ranking </span>
  <em>
    <span>bourgeoisie</span>
  </em>
  <span> continued to rub shoulders against each other. It was flattery he could never understand at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew’s next words were unusually raw as they were whispered. Normally he coated every syllable in kindness and diplomacy. “Can we get on the dumb boat? I’ve been holding in a shit since the airport.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A Lux corporation employee stopped by, offering to take Matthew’s plain luggage for him. The wheaten blonde stubbornly refused for a seventh time. He wasn’t an invalid. He could carry his own fucking luggage!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They boarded the ship in quick time, led to their room. Of course it was the crappiest cabin on the yacht. Matthew had gravely underestimated Lars’s concerns, beyond all imagining. In the below deck cabin, Matthew sat on the one bed. Guessing from all the arm candy outside, this was a more </span>
  <em>
    <span>personal</span>
  </em>
  <span> party. It was clear this lodging was tiny, and it was still bigger than Amelia’s single wide trailer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The glassy mask the secretary wore dropped away as he sat on the ridiculously plush bed. A bed, a thing he hadn’t owned or slept on in months. An ugly sniffle came from the inherently emotional man, parts of him not suppressible.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Matthew apologized, voice messy. “I’m so fucking sorry I bugged you to come to this. I don’t belong at this ridiculous party at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars was quick to react, moved by the genuine confession. “He just wants to one-up me. In front of everyone else. He’s an idiot. Thank fuck we’re here only for tonight and tomorrow. Clearly the idiot is flexing his ass in front of me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars complained as he hauled in his own baggage, cursing as his foot accidentally hit the side of the bed railing. “I was going to ask myself why he did this then I remembered why. He’s a fucking dick. It’s not your fault, Matthew.” The spiky blonde turned to face the bed and blinked for a few moments. Why was the other man crying?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Near tears dried as Matthew ran a hand through his hair. It was getting long, starting to frame his face. “What the hell am I going to talk about for a day? I’m not one of these people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars hesitated awkwardly before approaching Matthew. His people skills were not top notch. Was sitting next to an employee the verge of harassment? What the fuck was he doing right now? Lars wasn’t sure. “You don’t want to be. They’re all bags of dicks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew glanced over, confused. “But… you’re rich. Don’t you know these types?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars fumed internally as he sat on one side of the bed. “Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> rich, mind. I know how to manage my money. Unlike that asshole up on the top deck of the yacht.” Lars fumed internally as he sat on one side of the bed. He faced Matthew, catching Matthew’s look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A terrible dilemma struck Lars. Were they supposed to </span>
  <em>
    <span>share</span>
  </em>
  <span> the bed?! Well, that thought made him blush a dusted shade of red, before he made the tiniest of coughing noises and turned away. “…whatever he’s doing, it’s working,” he admitted a few moments later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An innocent question from Matthew made Lars squirm. “So… Where’s my bed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars had nothing to say to that, the truth dawning on Matthew brilliantly. They both sat in blushing silence, absolutely screwed. This was going to be a horrible party.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Drinking On A Boat</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Matthew's hope for escape from high socialite hell vanished as the super yacht coasted farther into the chilling Atlantic. Land was just a fuzzy strip in the distance as cloud cover sparsely littered the sky. The sun would set soon, not that anyone took notice. The yacht was lit up like a goddamn casino.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing at a railing, Matthew was alone as he sipped red wine. He had very little to say to high socialites, and chose selective mutism as his evening activity. He missed his trashy couch home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars cast a concerned look over at Matthew, hoping the other didn't get rowdy as the night wore on. He knew full well to keep Kiku away from anything alcoholic. The last time he brought his friend here, things did not end well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So of course now, he was in the middle of being lambasted by his older brother. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Again.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude was at his most outrageous, in clothes that cost entire paychecks for normal humans. Lars's sister Leanne was here with her respected investor husband, slightly more modest. Her dress still cost a few months worth of food for the likes of Matthew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The majority heir of the family businesses and fortune continued to lord his power over Lars. This torture theater continued as his flaunting called out to Matthew. In the plainest terms, the cruel older brother was curious. His mob of admirers drifted along with him. Snubbing Lars to talk to a commoner was fun too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mr. Williams, you've barely said a word since your arrival." Claude called over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew looked warmly to Lars, his noble efforts noted. It was still impossible to avoid the asshole that owned the boat you were on. Coping mechanism two emerged, pure sardonic deflecting. "There is nothing to say. Your floating fortress has left me speechless." The tone this was spoken in was entirely without passion, yet polite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude totally ignored Lars, boring down his full social weight on Matthew. He did that with people, testing them to see if they bent or cracked. With a toxic saccharine smile, he gestured to all of this naval kingdom. He was proud of it all like a father.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It is beautiful. I love to hear about my guests as well. Someone so humble as yourself must be so intriguing. To work for my brother of all people..." Claude's many admirer's chuckled at this stab. Lars and Matthew were probably the worst dressed here. "That requires certain attributes."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A dozen eyes now burned into Matthew with interest, the peer pressure on the deck crushing. Matthew had to say something now, and divulge his true standing to the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was enough to set Lars off. He could feel a vein throbbing in his forehead as his grip on the glass he was holding started trembling. "What the fuck are you implying," Lars snarled, his eyes narrowing into a dangerous squint. "Isn't it enough that you love flaunting your fake-ass self in front of everyone?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, boy. Lars was on the warpath now. "Are you looking to humiliate my secretary in front of your adoring fan club?" The CEO raged on, the hand holding the glass now shaking rather badly. "Unlike you, I don't like it when money talks. That's not how shit goes in the business." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The glass was starting to crack in Lars’s hand now but he paid it no heed. "You only hire people for eye candy. Do they even know how to do their work? Matthew here knows his job very well. Much better than a bunch of sleazy bimbos wearing skintight clothes to distract your attention!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This conversation was becoming a spectator sport, and Matthew wanted none of it. He stood beside Lars proudly, brushing against him. Matthew couldn't help the brief contact, he had needs! Lars had initiated hand holding on the plane in his own way. Now he was trying to save Matthew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was official, Lars liked him. Sexual interest, or at least friendship, was a big deal to a lonesome Matthew. It was a special occasion that called for the unusual. The friendly cinnamon roll was going to engage his inner hockey player if Claude continued to be a prissy bitch. "In all of this, I must say, the red wine is delicious. Clearly a wonderful vintage. Should we go for a top up Lars?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew smiled barely, lavender eyes cold as they cut through Claude. There was no passion in them, no joy. A sliding uneasy silence followed as Lars was gently nudged to a snack table far away from here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> done," Lars ordered, inching away from Matthew. "Go get your wine. You don't have to see this." Lars turned his attention back on Claude, ready to battle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I wonder why you always show up to every party with a different lady hanging off your arm. You fucking cheater!" Lars gestured rudely at the lady beside Claude. "That was definitely not the same lady as last time you humiliated me in front of all prospective clients. That you stole away from everyone else!" The younger half brother was no longer standing for any of his brother's bullshit. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>"You sit on that fucking gilded throne, not doing a single damned thing. Soaking up all the glory from everyone else who works under you! I am done with that bullshit!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To emphasize the point, he reared back and took aim. Oh, how he wanted to smash the glass right in his brother's face! Instead, he ended up splashing the contents of said glass across his older brother's suit. A few moments later, the glass followed suit, shattering on the floor near Claude's feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Get off that throne of yours, you asshole!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude was ready. He was born ready, itching to cut his idiot brother’s face a second time. His smile was aggressively laced with malice, soon to be a frown. Claude rarely passed an opportunity to shame his bastard brother. “You have no right to talk like that to me! You’re not even family. You’re the son of a corporate whore and everyone knows it! You were born trash. You talk like trash. You will always be human garbage!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew tried to play peacekeeper, as Leanne shook her head in disapproval. “Lars, maybe we shouldn’t…” Matthew wheedled, wedging between the two warring men.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leanne groaned, humiliated as people began to cluster around. “Oh my god, can you two not kill each other at a party one time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't talk about my mother like that!" Lars shouted, gently shoving Matthew aside. If there was one thing he despised, it was attacks of his bastard birth. "So what if I'm not family? You don't have to be such a righteous fucking asshole about it! I have every right to tear at you, you fucking glory hound. All you do is coast on Father’s accomplishments! I am done being oppressed by your bullshit!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars continued, crouching down and deliberately grabbing the biggest shard of broken glass he could find. Lars was absolutely done. In the heat of anger, he wasn’t exactly sure what to do with it. Lars didn’t really work out… Ever. The angry brother then attempted to fling the broken glass shard at Claude’s sneering face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The glass bounced off a wine stained shirt instead, but the intent was enough. The placid billionaire cursed in German, their respective father’s native language. He lunged at Lars. Matthew was still mostly in the middle, slugged by Claude’s fist. It connected in a ringing sensation with his jaw, sparking electric pain like a sharp bloom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew’s long repressed anger exploded like a bomb. Years of hard drinking and being a hockey goon came to life like a demon. “DON’T YOU FUCKING TOUCH ME!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With athleticism sharpened reflexes, the cinnamon roll turned deadly. He kicked Claude in the stomach, then grabbed an empty serving platter. Still doubled over in gut pain, the wailing billionaire couldn’t look up in time. The platter was cracked over his head with a sickening noise. Claude fell to the floor in tears, reeling from agony.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heaving from big breaths, Matthew was ruddy with anger. He grabbed Lars by the wrist, looking completely murderous. “We should go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars wasn't fast enough to deflect Matthew away in time despite his chivalrous efforts. The change that overcame the humble secretary was startling. It was enough for Lars's attention to completely laser in on Matthew. Normally, Lars knew the other as a soft-spoken and gentle individual, but this was something else entirely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The spiky blonde remembered that Matthew played hockey previously. It was like Matthew had become a different person completely, after Claude's poorly aimed attempt to punch. Lars could only stare in silent shock as the other moved in fury to defend. The next thing his shocked mind registered was Matthew's cold, unforgiving glare. All Lars could do at this point was nod quietly, allowing the other man to lead them away from the fiasco.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shedding the stunned crowd, Matthew fled like the wind. He released Lars immediately, vanishing. After brief investigation, Lars noticed the seafood medley sample tray was gone. It was coincidentally missing in the vicinity of Matthew’s warpath. This was the same route leading back to their room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew was hiding, and he took provisions with him. After a few minutes, The party up on deck continued. Claude had the stuffing beat out of him by a fluffy looking secretary, which was fuel for his followers to bolster him over. It was largely fertile ground for chatter and interest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Having witnessed the show of violence, Lars could only ponder the enigma that was his secretary.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Trial By Water</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The fight of all fights had just concluded, Claude now catered and pampered to in a chair. He still looked like shit though, an ice pack held to his aching skull.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Following right after, Lars made tracks toward the shitty cabin. It was the one so small the two men were forced to share one bed. Claude’s pettiness truly had no end. There was no other place Matthew would have disappeared off to. Seeing that the door was slightly open, he slipped inside and closed it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars made sure to lock up in case anyone got stupid ideas and started harassing them. “Mattie?” he called out, looking around the cramped cabin. Was the distressed secretary in the bathroom?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The barest of apologies was whispered from the bathroom. “I’m… I’m sorry Lars.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was that you back there?” he called out, inching closer to the bathroom door and trying to open it. “Why are you hiding? There’s no need to hide…” After, Lars realized he had softened his voice. For some reason he sported a heady blush. He didn’t know why.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As much as I want to kick him in the face, well, kicking the asshole in the stomach works too. Always taking potshots at me ever since he was a child, the idiot,” Lars chatted slowly as he jiggled the door knob.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door was locked, but Matthew was heard sliding closer via fabric on tile. “I didn’t mean to lose my temper. I’m sorry I was so rude.” It was a sudden realization for Lars, that Matthew might be scared. Why else would he hide?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was all you?” Lars asked in a hushed tone. “I know you play hockey, but goddamn, I didn’t know you could go off like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars realized that he was struggling to find the right words. He jiggled the door knob again, trying to lure the other man out. “He needed that, to be honest. Nobody… nobody could touch him. Until now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was hope in Matthew's voice, even if it was a shred. "You're not gonna fire me for kicking your brother in the stomach?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They might think you’re from the mafia after what happened, so… Hopefully they don’t fuck around with my company anymore. You just… You went bonkers up there,” Lars admitted, a chuckle coming to his voice. “Even if you look so innocent, who knew you could pack a fucking punch,” he added, a full-blown laugh coming from him a few moments later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Someone needed to throw him down from his high perch. I’m very…very thankful you did something. He didn’t deserve to hit you like that. Thank you for blocking the punch and…” he stammered, words failing him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wait.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Oh, no.</b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not now! Gay feelings, stay down!</span>
  </em>
  <span> His mind thought in a panic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was too late. Matthew opened the door, so relieved. With rosy cheeks, he gushed joyful sentiments. “Oh thank you for not firing me! Thank you!” Lars was swept up in a short hug, released after a second. You could feel it, raw strength from regular workouts. Matthew was built like a tank under his subtle chub.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oof,” Lars grunted as he felt like he was crushed momentarily by a bear. “You really do have the strength for hockey. Remind me not to get on your bad side.” It took him a few moments for his brain to register that his secretary had hugged him. Hugged him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mind was mush from the contact. Lars grinned stupidly before he turned away and let out an embarrassed noise. “Well, since you’ve made an impact up there… guess we’re not leaving this… this cabin until it gets back to land…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s okay. I took a plate of food from the table, and I have playing cards in my things.” Matthew set the veritable rainbow of seafoods he swiped on the bed, now digging through his luggage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first thing Matthew learned was that Lars was pretty good at card games. It didn't help that the secretary was shit at bluffing. He became too gosh darn excited when he drew a good card. Three games in, Lars was still on a winning streak of anything Matthew could throw at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew threw down his poker hand, giving up in good humored drama. "Defeated again!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The daunting seafood platter was half done, but not done enough. Lars's phone pinged, notifying its owner there was a text. Kiku had sent a brief message of “OK” followed by a picture of his bunnies in a sunglasses filter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need to work on your poker face more, you give yourself away too easily when you get a good card,” he noted, checking his phone before his eyebrows went up and he shot a reply back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You didn’t answer the other question… did you inform him of my seafood problem?’ before sending the message off again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes warily raked the seafood platter, hoping there was something he could pilfer from it. Noticeably, Matthew was the one single-handedly destroying the contents of the platter, and he had yet to touch it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you still hungry?” he asked in a joking manner, gesturing to the platter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew shook his head, flopping on the bed. "It's really cool to have clams, I don't normally get them. Isn't it weird how much fish there was on the boat? I mean, a guy that rich, but I guess he likes seafood."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude's depths of rivalry knew no bounds today. He resorted to trying to kill Lars with food, not that Matthew knew the lesser blood war that was still in progress.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s being an asshole, is what’s happening,” Lars complained as he stretched himself out on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “He knows I’m deathly allergic to seafood. He knows, and yet that’s the only thing he serves every time he has a party this outrageous. Kiku can vouch for it. he’s had too much seafood before. I had to haul him back to his cabin the last time I was called out here. He was so green…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew absorbed the information, rolling over to face Lars. “I had no idea you were allergic! You always eat lunch alone so I never noticed. I um… I might have something you can eat.” Matthew pulled a mostly intact snack cake from his luggage. He must have bought it at that airport vending machine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Moon cake, and um, some beef jerky?” The low caliber junk food was dumped on the bed with some care. Matthew was apologetic as ever, a true cinnamon roll. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think all the good food here would kill you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars was doubtful airport snacks would keep him alive, not willing to indulge the sweet gesture. Instead he poked the crumpled snacks morosely. “It’s… It’s very Claude to try and kill me. I inherited some of the family fortune and he’s been mad about it for years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew shifted from gentle concern to sincere determination, sitting up. “It’s my duty as your personal assistant to get you stuff. I’m going to see if these boat chefs can whip up something that won’t kill you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The secretary was not prepared for such an emotional response from his cold boss. Lars looked at him with open joy, gently squeezing a hand. “You’re such a saint.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honest to god, Matthew didn’t know what to say at this point. This was crossing a clear and obvious line that co-workers and bosses should never cross. It was barely a friendship thing, though Matthew was hardly experienced in that. He had maybe six good friends in his whole life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This entire trip was testing Matthew’s patience in all ways. From what was appropriate interactions with a boss, to triggered tempers, he was spinning. Licking his lips nervously, the wheaten blonde commenced his journey for nonfatal food. This was something he could actually resolve today.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once more on the deck, Matthew was scouting out the refreshed snack table. With Lars absent for the last two hours, everything was now miraculously varied and colourful. The previous maritime display, one Matthew attacked twice, was mostly gone or picked at.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almost all the other guests weaved around Matthew on his journey. That was fair, he did beat the host of the party with a serving tray. Well, it was time to resolve this before the entire evening came back to haunt him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seeing Claude relatively isolated with a flute of bubbly wine, Matthew went up one flight of railed stairs. The lord of the ship himself lounged with his arm candy, admiring stars of the Atlantic ocean night. When Matthew’s obvious presence was not acknowledged, he cleared his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not good to get sick on a boat.” Claude mentioned off handed manner, obviously being a jerk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew took a deep breath. He was not going to lose his temper again. “I was rather inappropriate earlier, and we should have talked on better terms. I was hoping to call a truce.” At this a  hand was offered for shaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude looked at him with disdain only a cat could pull off. Matthew might as well be a bug, or a glass of water to be tipped. Claude perked a brow, but couldn’t be bothered to move from his lounger throne. “Fine. Whatever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew squinted at him but said nothing. He turned to leave, but Claude wanted the last word. “I suppose my pathetic half-brother sent you to grovel in his place?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Rage. Violence, vitriol and seething, lived under Matthew’s skin. He only had two true reactions to threats or insults. He timidly hid, or attacked like a mother bear. Right now the veteran hockey goon was primed to attack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Calm was the stream, and Matthew strived to be the gentle river. Swallowing his Appleford Warrior pride, the goon didn’t react at all. He offered a half smile instead. This was paired with a dead glare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew could see through the pageantry, through the pompousness. He was not swayed by golden idols or displays of grandeur. Claude was only a man, one that could snap like a twig. All of this was communicated in their brief connection of eyes. Words were just as chilled, deadly between the lines. “Hardly. Have a good night Mr. van den Berg.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew scurried off with a plate of food, no doubt for his master. Claude watched all of this from one deck above, sipping his vintage chardonnay. Once the secretary insect was gone to parts unknown, Claude’s calm act dropped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tiffany, sweetie, go have fun with the guests. I have to make a business call.” Claude dismissed his latest supermodel sex symbol. He only had flings at most with girls, rotating through a handful each season.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The curvaceous sensual woman crooned, obedient and demure. “Okay baby. I’ll bring back some snacks after.” With that, the girlfriend of the week flitted off to socialize and drink like a fish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moderately alone, Claude scrolled through his phone contacts. Only a nearby waiter hovered nearby, hardly worth noting. Calling a very special number, there was almost no delay before the line picked up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes Mr. van den Berg?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude frowned, staring at the general direction Matthew had gone. No doubt he was hired protection, with a kick like that. The deceptive ‘secretary’ had to be ex-marines or something. “Vash, we have a problem.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vash was an ideal man. Money was his motivation, and he would probably do anything under Claude’s generous pay. With legal connections like a great old tree, the morally loose Swiss lawyer would smear anyone. “How can I help solve it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My brother hired protection. Find out why, then destroy the guy’s life."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a cluck of the tongue audible from the other end, followed by a small sigh. “Understood.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude ended the call, then threw the phone into the Atlantic ocean. He was as paranoid as they came, with several attempts on his life. These were the risks of being a billionaire. The talented tactician had performed hundreds of hostile company takeovers over the years. The only nemesis left was Lars’s pathetic textile empire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mr. Honda was a terribly touchy drunk, but a fierce lawyer. The resolute Japanese American had fended off three attacks from LUX corp already. It was clear now. Lars was preparing to attack back with an all star team. Hiring this Mr. Williams soldier was only another sign of war. It was a war Claude would win.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Berg Industries would burn to the ground.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Babes And Bunnies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>With the boss man gone on a two day business trip, Kiku had to fill in the void. He didn’t have the breadth of knowledge or experience to actually do Matthew or Lars’s job. He was essentially a glorified corporate lawyer with immense pride.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was an easy two days of extra pay, bunny watching, and texting the object of his affection. This couldn’t be simpler. Truth be told, Kiku didn’t understand why he couldn’t come to the big boat party.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lawyer partied as hard as he worked, and that particular yacht had been amazing. After getting all the hot women drunk, the energetic Asian did shots off a three million dollar work of art. Kiku couldn’t have more fun, even if that oil painting was ruined. It didn’t matter, because the snooty rich bastard Lars had for a brother likely bought a fresh painting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was three years ago. It seemed Kiku was not allowed to get his freak on during corporate hours or trips. Boo. After sitting around the office and sometimes answering the phone for eight hours, Kiku had three hours of bunny watching and care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars’s estate was humble and frankly, cheap. He was a multimillionaire and he insisted on living in a generous two story property. Sure, it was a nice place, if lightly furnished. It was still middle class at most if you ignored the giant garden out back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were people living in real life castles, and Lars chose this boring box house. Where was the whimsy? Bah, the CEO was tightly wound. He needed a great blow job to loosen up. Kiku knew a dozen great places for that, but Lars never indulged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is your master’s problem, Money?” Kiku whispered, petting the lop eared bunny in his lap. He watched the shy pets often enough that they relaxed and groomed near him. Flicking through streamed shows, the bored Japanese man talked to the creatures.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe he has a broken heart? But he never dates for real…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The white fluffy bunny sniffed his shirt, very cute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An idea, not very new, occurred to Kiku. “Perhaps he has performance anxiety, or hasn’t found the right person.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Money had no more commentary than last time, now joined by Miffy and Jenever. They all piled on his lap, expecting food. Of course they expected food. Ponderings of one of Kiku’s best friends ended, only the </span>
  <em>
    <span>best</span>
  </em>
  <span> baby spinach fetched from the fridge. It was one of the few things Lars went brand name for, after gardening supplies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pets stuffed the leaves in their faces like the farm meat they were.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bored out of his mind, Kiku lazed in an armchair and texted Amelia. Giggling and sending emojis, her every letter made the man giddy. He believed completely in destiny and true love, absolutely certain his special lady was out there. Amelia was his absolute favourite stripper, and a strong candidate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Strippers were not that far off from rabbits, frequently prey of humanity. You had to earn a stripper’s trust slowly and cautiously, like a skilled woodsman. After three patient months of brief exchanges and conversation at Birds of Paradise club, Miss America was actually texting him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her true name was Amelia Jones and she was startlingly witty. She had  blue eyes and a fantastic body, paired with latent mystery. It was in her sapphire eyes, a great and mighty secret. Kiku loved to unravel a good story, and his heart sang whenever he laid eyes on the American sex symbol. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Surely this was love!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While reading old texts from Amelia, the phone rang. It was Kiku’s mother. Family had always been the focus of his life, and everything he did was for them. He loved his mother and sister the very most, sending them money several times a year.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello mom!” Kiku answered in his native Japanese, errantly throwing spinach leaves at bunnies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How is my successful son?” It was nice to hear Mom’s voice. Kiku didn’t have a scarring or terrible childhood unlike apparently everyone around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great. How’s Atsuko?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mother and son chatted like always, very well informed. As Mom babbled on about Atsuko’s new baby boy, Kiku mostly paid attention. He had seen his sister’s child on social media hours earlier, still fresh from birth. It was okay if he tuned out now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mom came to her usual talking points, badly wanting her rich son to get married. Kiku didn’t understand the rush. He was barely in his mid twenties with time to find the right lover. Oh hell, he might as well tell his trusted Mom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiku cleared his throat, heart fluttering just thinking about Amelia. “I think I found true love, but I’m not completely sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were expected cheers and croons. “Oh tell me about her!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man talked at length about his latest fancy. Her hair, her button nose, her wicked sharp sense of humour. All of this was wrapped in southern charm worthy of a debutante. “... And she says the cutest things all the time. She’s finally talking to me outside of her work, and if I’m very careful, I’ll get a date.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a long pause then a grave tone Kiku hated. It was the mom's voice of nagging power. “She’s not a stripper is she? You know how these things work out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mom,” Kiku whined. “This is love, I know it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be careful son. Your heart is a resource.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiku rolled his eyes. “Yeah, listen. I have to go. Say hi to Atsuko and baby Leon for me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, they politely ended the conversation. Kiku purred, thinking about his crush. His phone was swamped with texts from Lars again. The technical boss was always so anxious about his pets when he traveled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not bothering to read a single one, Kiku swiped them all off the phone screen. Taking a picture of the bunnies in sunglasses filter, the bad picture was sent instantly. Tossing his expensive phone on the kitchen table, Kiku walked away with the remaining spinach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He and his bunny entourage settled for two hours of violent martial arts films.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amelia stared hard at her phone screen during breaks at work. She wasn’t an idiot. She knew the signs of being cased out, lured into dates. Wooed with expensive flowers. She knew every line, every attack, and every game play. She had been a victim to all of them in four different countries.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Candy Girl, better known as Cindy, entered from on stage looking winded in her nudity. Sadik might not be creative with his show starter ideas, but he hired top notch choreographers. That was what it took to be the best strip joint in a two hour radius.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got them chompin’ at the bit for Betty-Sue’s act. Those are thirsty boys tonight.” Cindy drawled as she sat at her prep station, pulling crumpled five dollar bills out of her sweaty clothes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s probably the textile factory boys. More cocks than brain cells.” Amelia remarked, stowing her phone in the prep desk. She checked her make up one last time in the large mirrors all around, then stood in her towering six inch heels. She was studded with rhinestones and leather fringe tonight, in her cowgirl persona.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cindy rolled her eyes. “Right? Is that Chinese guy still bothering you? I can get Sadik and Flavio to fuck him up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amelia could say yes. She could sick her boss on the nosy client. The Turkish giant of a man was as filthy and perverted as they came, but he wasn’t stupid. Sadik was deeply protective of his property and employees. Along with the Brazillian bouncer Flavio, no one harmed the many birds of paradise in Sadik’s gold cage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, she hesitated. Mr. Honda was hardly a bad person, just a horny if innocent fan. He would probably take her out for a date, realize she’s not her personas, and drop the subject. It happened before, and it would probably happen again. Hell, a date might be fun with a free meal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mr. Honda, or Kiku as he insisted, was probably a sex blind idiot. He didn’t know the things Amelia had done across Europe. The Japanese businessman didn’t understand the depths Amelia had sunk to for her last serious lover. Fleeting memories of icy purple eyes and deep Russian purrs surfaced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amelia shuddered, unwilling to linger on it. Ivan was dead, she changed her name, and none of the past happened. She was a Jones now, and she had to be the best little sister Matthew could ask for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, she slapped on her customer service voice and sauntered out to serve drinks to horny locals.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Lar's Defence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Lars was hardly relaxed when it was time to sleep. Claude in his vast scheming madness, had pinned his half-brother with the most dreaded inconvenience. There was only one bed. Were it anyone but Lars’s prized secretary, that other bastard would be sleeping on the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The problem was that this classic comedy scenario involved Matthew. It was the very same blonde that made Lars’s brain fall out before investor meetings. It was hard to focus, in all the ways the CEO feared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars van den Berg was not going to be a terrible corporate stereotype. The son of a secretary himself, Lars was quietly ashamed of his roots. The astute businessman refused to beget the workplace drama that had spawned himself. He was a proud, if accidental, creature. He was not going to bend to such low behaviours like…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew briefly changed from his party clothes to a loose shirt. The rest was kicking off clothes into a corner. The man had the grace of a lanky moose, yet eyes couldn’t tear away. Lars backed up, against a wall in no time. Matthew looked back sheepishly, looking exhausted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should have used the bathroom, but…”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Lars was sure Matthew was saying other words, but they didn’t make it. Trapped and flustered, Lars was struggling to make his own sounds, heart thundering in his chest. There was no logical reason he wanted to melt into a puddle. There was another cause, but Lars refused to acknowledge it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew brought him mostly back to the planet with a touch. “You okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars was so screwed. “Floor…” he mumbled, locked onto those violet eyes. It took a minute to realize he was eating his secretary alive with a hungry gaze. Lars stared at the floor in shame. “I’m… I’m sleeping on the floor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay if I sleep on the floor, you are my boss. We can share the mattress too, I mean… I can put stuff between us like a border too... If sharing grosses you out that much.” Curse Matthew and his sweetness! The very idea of sharing a bed was one that made the CEO excited in all the wrong ways. He was going to be very professional about everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars sure didn’t sound strong as he repeated himself. He felt sickly vulnerable and warm, halfway to begging for </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Please, I’ll take the floor. I can’t, it’s… Privacy stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew squinted in suspicion, but didn’t press the topic. “Okay, I guess. I’ll give you all the pillows at least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars would spend the night tortured and sleepless, struggling not to touch himself. Even the morning after, the sight of his brutish secretary was charming. Matthew was a massive bed hog, content to tangle in every sheet and blanket. Within this cluster of softness, Matthew slept soundly with a light snore. Matthew had savoured the task like he never used a bed before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The entire morning was spent avoiding Matthew. The image of the hunk hugging a lone pillow seared in Lars’s head like a fire. He completely refused to think of how he could be that lucky object.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead the grouchy man sipped coffee while staring angrily at the ocean. Growing up in the Netherlands, he was classically trained in both respecting and hating massive bodies of water. After over five hours of being elsewhere, Matthew reappeared. It was surprising Lars was discovered at all, hiding on the back deck likely for employees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey…” Matthew greeted looking a little winded. “This boat is bigger than I thought. Wanted to make sure you didn’t fall off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars grunted, sipping his black coffee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew settled beside him quietly. Leaning on the railing, he peered shyly at his superior. “Did I do something wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other man perked a brow, as salty as the ocean before them. “No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Last night over cards, you remember? We were going to discuss the sales strategy we could use on these guys over breakfast. I kinda woke up alone, so…” Matthew was obviously uneasy, scratching the back of his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars recalled that conversation clearly. He had made such promises before his brain decided to abort the mission. Seeing Matthew partially naked confirmed the greatest of unprofessional fears, now taking higher priority. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s this place. I hate it here, because it belongs to Claude. Every second I spend here, he’s probably going to try and kill me with a clam.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was not a lie in the strictest sense. Half the food on the boat could still kill Lars at any moment via severe allergies. Lars convinced himself this was the truth, sparing a loving glance to his secretary. It was hard not to look when Matthew looked so damn good in fitted pants.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew was blushing again. Weird. “Well, I don’t think he’ll try now. He won’t even shake my hand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars was battling a lot of very inappropriate thoughts and ideas, leaving very little energy for conversation. Instead, he sipped his coffee. The once miserable silence was now somehow cozy, despite being stuck on the ocean. He could easily identify why this was, but chose not to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A new blessing of the day appeared. It was Claude on the party deck below, accompanied by his sister. They were clearly engaged in conversation, unseeing to his presence. A simple idea came to Lars. How petty was he, in the bigger picture? How childish was the accomplished CEO towards his troublesome brother?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The answer, with only slight hesitation, was </span>
  <em>
    <span>so very much</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars took a last sip of his coffee, then leaned on the railing. He dumped the remaining beverage directly on Claude’s head with wonderful accuracy. Matthew looked to Lars in silent shock as Leanne looked up then giggled. Claude was the angriest of all, flipping Lars the bird before stomping off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get me another one.” Lars grunted, shoving the empty cup in Matthew’s hands. The secretary gave him a flat expression, still of some pride. The taller man relented, but his smile couldn’t cease. “... Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Matthew skipped off to serve, Lars could only hope this good mood could last until docking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars’s luck, like always, was absolute bullshit. Reaching dry land was another reminder of the depths Matthew consisted of. The second he even saw the plane, the fearsome warrior from that boat fight died. Who was Matthew, this enigmatic assistant from Appleford, Nebraska? Was he really a dedicated worker? Was this a ruse? Was Matthew secretly always violent but suppressing his true nature?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The flight home was better, at least. Matthew managed to not pass out from terror.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Working was hard after the trip. Thinking was hard. Accomplishing anything was almost impossibly difficult since that evil yacht trip. It drove Lars to his bed, cuddling his bunnies on a saturday. Technically he had piles of work to catch up on. One more aspect of Matthew unfolded, another side of a multifaceted precious stone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In all his sainthood, Matthew was doing the extra work right now on overpay. What kind of boss was Lars to lust after his own secretary then dump days of work on the very day? A shitty one, was what. Lars was so wrapped up in his own stupid feelings that he could barely compose an e-mail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I have to fire him. I can’t work around him like this. I… I feel like I’m going insane.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words tasted bitter in his mouth, making him feel sick. If Money the bunny had any opinions on her master’s sanity, she probably wasn’t going to share them. Instead, she sat on Lars and groomed fluffy white ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars could do this. Matthew was the best goddamn secretary ever, but his freckles alone were destroying morality. Bosses wanting their workers like this was wrong on every level. Grabbing his phone, Lars swallowed nervously. Jenever, Miffy, and the youngest bunny called Money were his cover picture. Punching in his password, a criminal photo was his main background.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The photo was Matthew sleeping, all tangled up in a blanket. Lars had taken it during the yacht trip, lacking the ability to delete it. There were times he couldn’t stop looking at the damn thing, thinking about… well, things he wasn’t allowed to think about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a shaky breath, Lars called Matthew’s work line. It picked up after two rings. Matthew greeted him like always, his voice an electric salve that warmed Lars. “Hey there Boss man. You feeling better yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Words became sludge, becoming a rough noise of confirmation. Lars was babbling already. “Hmm. Kinda.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s good. I was sorting out the Windelson accounts and I noticed some mistakes in the last quota reports? Is this a B or an 8?” As Matthew chatted, Lars’s phone dinged. A clear picture of a form drowning in Kiku’s terrible English print arrived in a text message window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars completely forgot why he called, laughing. Kiku’s Japanese was beautiful and formal, but his English was mostly learned off cereal boxes. It looked like drunk scribbles on a good day. “Oh, that’s Kiku. This was um… some lawsuit we had shut up. A guy lost a finger in a weaving machine because he was a fucking idiot. I think it’s a B.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a soft noise of amusement. “It makes sense now. Mr. Honda was your secretary.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars groaned. “Yes, he was goddamn awful at it. I can read most of his stuff but… really. Just fucking terrible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Enamoured by Matthew’s voice, Lars achieved absolutely nothing. He forgot why he was upset at all. It would take hours to fall out of this spell, just like all the other times this week.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Days later, while in a bathroom stall at work, Lars overheard the worst news. There was a betting pool throughout the building. It revolved around when Lars would finally seduce his secretary. The idea that the public was gambling on his greatest fear was horrifying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew Williams had to go, before everything went to hell. Being openly gay in the corporate universe could destroy a person. Lars wasn’t even gay. He was hardly… This entire situation was an emotional mess that needed to end. His life, however cold and lonely it was, had to go back to normal before Matthew got hurt. More pressing was the risk of Lars getting hurt, and he couldn’t take that. Not again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His life was shitty enough with Claude van den Berg as a brother. Being riddled with unrequited feelings was not another burden Lars wanted. Matthew probably didn’t even like him that way. Hell, with Lars’s luck streak, Matthew was likely cute but straight. Lars had shitty tendencies like this his whole life.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not that Lars was gay at all</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Definitely straight. A month after the yacht trip from hell, things felt clear. Matthew had to go. Lars was going to fire the best helper he ever had, if only to cure his bleeding heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would be the hardest task Lars ever attempted.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Trial By Fire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Matthew had no idea why Lars used the formal boss voice on him earlier. Something was up, and the grouchy employer probably wouldn’t say why. Still, Matthew knocked politely on Lars’s door at lunch break. “Lars? You needed something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars had to brace himself. Even if he was a mess on the inside, he had to keep </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking calm</span>
  </em>
  <span>. This was the hardest decision he would make, admittedly also one of the biggest ones. The conflicted CEO had to steel himself. He'd already made up his mind about it and would have to </span>
  <em>
    <span>go through with it!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Come in," Lars began, trying to compose himself. He settled on a classic pose, leaning forward and perching lips on tented fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stern was the only suitable descriptor of Lars van den Berg today. Matthew noted the bizarrely poisonous mood of the room as he entered and closed the door. Dropping into his usual soft chair, the secretary flicked upward curious eyes. They prompted questions in silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We have to talk." Lars’s face was worse than usual. Normally it was in a perpetual state of resting bitch face, but today was the day he would have to lay down the law. Matthew Williams, efficient as he was distracting, had to go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I've been looking over your work these past few months," Lars continued, steely green gaze fixed on the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gaps of silence were estranged enough that Matthew attempted to fill them. "Are you requesting a file?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No. Not that. This... this... </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> you're doing. It. You're... distracting, I--" Lars tried to soldier on, all manner of seriousness disappearing. He felt like he was going to fall into lavender eyes and drown. Why was he terrible at this shit?!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" Matthew squinted at him, confused and innocent. "What am I doing?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's the... the </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span> about you! I can't... god, the way you do things is very efficient but your physical presence, I--" Lars rambled, all sense of order finally cracking and crumbling away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>God he was terrible at this.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You're so good at your job yet at the same time you're so distracting. I can't th-think straight,"</span>
  </em>
  <span> Lars mumbled in admission, hiding his face in his hands. God, how could he fire the best thing that had walked into his office since... since ever?!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew's usual kind expression twisted, hurting like a knife. His politeness and typical tact dropped into ice. "Are you firing me?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I... yes, but... wait, no! I... I really don't know w-w-what to do!" Lars cried out at last, face still hidden in his hands. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ugh, great</span>
  </em>
  <span>. How was he going to get this shit straight now? He was sending mixed signals and he was sure the other man </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn't</span>
  </em>
  <span> like that. "God, I... I don't want to, but..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew, for the first time at work, was openly disappointed with Lars. He looked away, sucking in a deep breath as he closed his eyes. Dragging hands down his face, he looked up again at his superior in exasperation. “Okay… That’s… Can you tell me why I’m getting fired?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're physically... God, you're so distracting I want to bend you over the desk and make out with you but--" Lars realized what he was saying, his ears burning with blush as he lapsed into awkward silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even Matthew wasn't expecting this blatant sexual thirst. Lars was pure composure with a heap of salt and touch of class. He didn't get wound up like this. This weak firing attempt had nothing at all to do with Matthew's work performance. Well, this was </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> interesting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew batted his eyes and smiled, once more welcoming. Maybe he was blushing faintly. Maybe he loved this unexpected attention. Lars was a uniquely handsome gay specimen, if only in Matthew’s thoughts. "I... um, thank you. But I wasn't trying to flirt back. It would be unprofessional."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shyness, sweet and sincere, made Matthew also backpedal. "I mean, not that you're... We're both adults and... Attractions happen sometimes." Oh Christ this was getting so much worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There. There! You're doing exactly what I wanted to... What I wanted to avoid! It's... see... I have... I have my reasons why I wouldn't want this to... To escalate further than it should go." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars rambled on, absolutely failing to collect his wits. The way Matthew addressed the situation only made things more terrible </span>
  <em>
    <span>for Lars</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Should he tell Matthew his worst-kept secret? He was still waffling on that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But... I... look. I--" The supposed boss continued to stammer, weak to his own employee. Words were failing Lars at this point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a chance Matthew could save his financial ass after all. He took it with both hands. "This isn't a reason to fire me, Lars. I haven't flirted with you once, even if we... There's chemistry here, but we can be adults about it. You might not even... This could be some ideal you think you want. You might not be gay at all. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> need this job."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew's desperation was clearest with that last line. How much student debt did he really have? It was so much more than he would ever dare admit to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars continued to ramble, his mouth on autopilot at this point. After witnessing Matthew’s vast range of moods, words tumbled out around the soft spoken creature. "How--how sure are you that... that I'm not gay?! I've been.... god. Oh, fucking hell do I have to tell you about this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a dramatic pause as Lars dragged his hands down his face. With a low groan, he looked out the windows to the mediocre view of Appleford. The small industrial town was a gathering of grey shapes in the vast distance, beyond a thick band of greenery. Having memorized the vista a decade ago, Lars had to return shy green eyes to the only person of interest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew met his look, clearly hopeful about keeping the job. Goddamn those adorable freckles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps roaming eyes drank in Matthew as Lars composed words. “Yes I better. Look at it this way... Haven't you wondered why all of the people here are men? Very little in the way of women? I'm not sexist, it's just... I just feel uncomfortable around women... In general."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars began to confess, barely in check. "And then... And then... I... The reason why I would want t-to keep things b-between us professional is... Because... well, I... I was born out of an office... Affair. Kind of... Ironic, don't you think... Considering my position..." The spiky haired Lars continued to wheeze, trying to hang onto whatever shred of sanity he had left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emotion threatened to pool in Lars’s eyes, yet he couldn’t stop looking at Matthew. The source of his agony looked intrigued, warm and sweet in expression. God, those freckles alone could slay Lars right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew scooched his seat closer, more excited than he had right to be. What the hell was he even doing, endangering his career like this? Sure Lars was really fit and handsome and... "We can still be professional at work, and maybe be... Friends after. Maybe talk sometimes. Get coffee."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh god, why did he just say that? Matthew's stifled want for attention was bleeding out in all the worst ways. He did want this squirming man's lust. Matthew wanted everything Lars wanted, just as lonely. Chemistry between them was a bitch, palpable and very real.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars couldn't take it anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The walls were cracking, his facade was crumbling. The more Matthew talked, the more he wanted to pin him down on the desk and claim him </span>
  <em>
    <span>right there</span>
  </em>
  <span> but there were cameras watching! Whoever was in the security room was going to get a laugh out of this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Matthew, god, I really want t-t-to keep this professional, but, but, I..." he went on, voice cracking before the beginnings of his emotional breakdown surfaced. God, when was the last time he cried? He couldn't remember.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a lone tear trail, both lost souls fell into love's clutches. Matthew didn't have words fitting this momentous event, so set them aside. Instead, he slipped a hand over Lars's and squeezed in comfort. Lacing fingers together, every movement was delicate and careful. With a soulful gaze, a simple message was communicated.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I want you too.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars shuddered at the look, his body coiled with… just about everything. Anxiety of how he would be perceived. Unbridled lust and buried dreams. Touch starvation was a big motivator. Matthew letting go and standing up made him beg, if only in quiet whispers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, Matthew, I didn’t mean to alienate you or…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew shushed him softly, stealing an orange post-it note off the desk. Standing on the chair after dragging it to a corner, the sticky stationary covered the security camera. Certain it was going to stay in place, The secretary looked over in hunger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars wanted to pursue badly, lifting slightly out of his chair. Matthew welcomed the attempt, going around the desk. Pulling the man into a hug, Matthew patted and cooed tears away. The watery emotions wouldn’t cease, as the taller man leaned in and held on for dear life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew squeezed him tightly, clinging to Lars’s beanpole contours. They both pressed close, Lars looking deeply into Matthew’s eyes. Almost on tiptoes, Matthew’s heart pattered as they touched noses. The next move was natural as breathing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mouths slid into a kiss, perfect fits. Obviously it was a little dry and awkward. This didn’t stop his nerves from thrumming with joy. Needy animal sounds escaped Lars as he tried to eat Matthew alive. The secretary wanted to melt as Lars pinned him to the wall behind the desk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A bottom in all ways, Matthew moaned and wrapped a leg around Lars. They couldn’t stop. Lars was still welling up with emotion. A breathy sigh escaped Matthew as he was felt up liberally. They sank to the floor, both dizzy and immensely occupied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t occur to Matthew that they were being so lewd until he was on his back, both on the carpet. Lars was above him, holding on tightly and leaving a trail of potential hickeys. It was all so hot, and suddenly very real with a press of Lar’s body. Wrapped around Lars eagerly, Matthew could feel that thundering heart beneath his fingers. Lars growled and bent to instinct, grinding his hips against Matthew’s body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The secretary yelped, shocked by how hard they both were. “L-l-lars, we can’t… We’re at work. I…” Willpower melted with another squeeze of Matthew’s body. The trapped blonde scrambled to function in lust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lars!” he whispered urgently, just as aroused and overwhelmed. It was more of a gasp at this point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars froze on the spot, horrified. He reeled back, mostly clear headed. Needy desires still made him hazy, but goddamn he had a mission. He just devoured Matthew in kisses with barely any prompting. From a pragmatic view, it was now a guarantee this would end in a weird legal snafu or lawsuit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew lay on the floor, just as flush and breathless. “Mmm, you’re a good kisser.” The secretary purred, content. He rolled onto his side, coy and sweet. Lars still tingled from holding the other, pressing against him, consuming him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Matthew, you’re fired effective immediately</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a simple sentence. Lars was actually capable of speech, even though he was slow on the uptake right now. Instead, he was even more of an idiot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to give you a raise.” Lars mumbled, falling into lavender eyes again. His sheer dumbass levels didn’t really hit him until a few seconds later. Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew crawled forward on the spotlessly clean carpet. He squished Lars adoringly, peppering him in more kisses. “Thank you so much, you have no idea… Oh thank you! I’ll work my very best for you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Ready to melt into a puddle, Lars grumbled one sensible order. It was the only smart thing he had uttered since this disaster started. “I need a good coffee from… Eddy’s. The one like an hour away. The darkest they got.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Such an insane command would buy Lars time to dig himself out of this mess. Matthew released his cuddling touch, Lars briefing swooning. He almost reached for more, stress white knuckles in clenched fists. With a cute “Of course”, the happy assistant skipped off to obey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars had close to two hours to invent a new plan.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Shenanigans</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The entire building was not wrong to believe Lars fell for Matthew. The boss was energetic and more motivated as he orbited his latest assistant. The man was normally a loner, most girlfriends banned from his office completely. Matthew could barely avoid being dragged into Lars’s contemporary lair.</p><p>Any excuse was used to drop Matthew in that chair before Lars, be it mail reading or verbal note taking. Never before had anyone seen the cold boss so enamored with anything that wasn’t profits.</p><p>This blossoming romance led to a small crowd in the security office with the guards. They all watched the closed circuit camera results with burning interest. They saw the fuzzy colour screen as their boss chatted. He was blushing scarlet like a damn fire, probably saying something goofy.</p><p>Lars did that around Matthew, blurting out emotions like a drunk child. Things became spicier as Matthew slid his seat closer. Was that a hand hold? It was so hard to tell anything from the door centric view!</p><p>Right after that, Matthew stood and grabbed something off the desk. The show was over when a hot orange post-it note blocked out everything. “Aw come on!” One manager whined.</p><p>“Betting time! Remember, $10 for kisses.” Kiku reminded the others, standing and straightening his tie.</p><p>“$30 on them fucking on the rug.” A janitor spoke up, likely experienced in cleaning up such things.</p><p>A desk clerk chimed in. “Twenty on a hand job!”</p><p>“You are all animals.” Kiku scolded them ironically, collecting various bets on the spot.</p><p>With a fat wad of cash in hand, the dutiful corporate lawyer left. Confirmations had to be made, and payouts had to be determined. Being tactful, Kiku pretended to work for just over an hour before checking in. It wasn’t hard given most of his job was papers.</p><p>Lars was likely hiding behind a pile of paperwork. He probably sent Matthew out to buy some coffee. Given the dutch businessman was so addicted, this was normal. How was Lars going to explain the post-it note on the camera? The place was probably still a mess. Well, to Lars it looked <em> like </em> a mess.</p><p>Kiku knocked by lazily kicking the door. He didn’t want to spill the bowls in his hands.</p><p>"What is it?"</p><p>Kiku peeked in, looking politely devious in the way only he could. “Hello. Are you busy, Lars-san?”</p><p>Lars grunted, hiding behind papers.</p><p>"Well," Kiku began, pushing the door open with his shoulder. In his hands were two glorious bowls of golden ramen sprinkled with spice and egg. "Do you have time for ramen?" This was a trick question of course. Kiku's ramen recipe was a delicious family secret few denied the power of.</p><p>"I <em> always </em> have time for ramen. That smells fantastic. Is that the sesame variant?" Lars inquired, instantly interested. He peeked out from the side of the folder. His devious best friend was holding up not just one but <em> two </em> bowls of the delicious food.</p><p>Kiku was painstakingly slow in removing paper off the desk. It was just as bad as Matthew with opening doors for other people. Finally satisfied with the available area, the bowl was placed in front of Lars. Kiku closed the door as well, chatting in rapid fire fashion. "Yes. I sprinkled extra sesame for this one."</p><p>Kiku was sitting with his own ramen and metal chopsticks. He had the most smug look on his face. "So. Did you fire Mr. Williams?"</p><p>"I..." Lars’s bravado died on the spot. Rummaging around in a drawer, he pulled out his cutlery set and conceded to using a fork. "I... wanted to, but..."</p><p>Kiku was probably Lars's only friend in this whole shitty town. He knew the guy through and through. They endured college and bad pot together. The Japanese man cocked his head in empathy. "Did he cause trouble?"</p><p>"Uh..." Now Lars was caught between a rock and a hard place, in more ways than one. How was Lars going to explain this?! Surely Kiku had noticed the covered security camera by now?! Stalling for time, Lars ate some noodles.</p><p>Kiku was patient and wise. He would wait for confirmation of a growing bet within the company. He had at least $100 dollars riding on it. They ate in silence, until both bowls were drained. In deceptive politeness, the lawyer spoke again. "I could ask Mr. Williams. See if he is going to be a problem."</p><p>Matthew could not have walked in at the worst time. He carried the ridiculously far away coffee he was told to fetch. Lars really thought it would take longer. The personal assistant glowed with affections, more telling than fireworks.</p><p>"The coffee you wanted, Lars." Oh hell, Matthew might as well wave a banner around. He was so happy it was criminal. With much gay enthusiasm, the loved beverage was placed on on the desk.</p><p>Kiku smirked but said nothing.</p><p>"Th-thank you," Lars squeaked out, waving a hand in Matthew's direction. "You can go now," he added a few moments later. God, his ears were shriveling up. That was a certainty. Good fucking god he was <em> really </em> caught between a rock and a hard place right now!</p><p>Matthew cocked finger guns of all things, skipping off to answer the phone. It was a gesture between pals or long time friends, not coworkers. There was a long pause, then Kiku couldn't help himself. "Please tell me what happened, Lars-san."</p><p>Lars squirmed under pressure, then caved. He had to say something. “I tried to fire him… but I gave him a raise instead.” He hid in his own arms on the desk after, as if humiliated.</p><p>Kiku bit his lip, clicking his chops sticks once. He didn’t dare utter a single judgement against a good friend. Lars didn’t give people raises ever. This bond with Matthew was something else. Lars was usually pretty tight lipped though. Something happened, and there were easier sources to pry at.</p><p>Ah yes, it was time to attack on the secretary front. Kiku stood with intention, politely taking both dirty bowls away. “Good lunch, but I am very busy.”</p><p>Lars grunted, looking overly relieved he was freed from examination. In all fairness, the CEO was almost always the last person out of the building. His workload was legitimate enough to justify having an assistant.</p><p>Closing the door after he left, Kiku set his sights on a new target. Matthew Williams had no idea the precision that the lawyer could strike. Like a perfectly sharp katana, the truth would be cut open and spilled. Lars hadn’t said a thing about the cruise, and that was a month ago. How <em> agonizing </em>.</p><p>From Matthew’s dress and mannerisms, it was obvious he was a lower class citizen. All his likely terrifying student debt was probably from credit. While poorer people were not intentionally stupid, they frequently made bad decisions to arrive at such a state. The likelihood Matthew was educated in any way that mattered was slim to none.</p><p>Kiku could squeeze information out of the man with legal lingo alone. This would be <em> easy </em>. Determined, The raven haired lawyer approached Matthew. The soft assistant was buried in work, puttering away at a Rolex on his desk. Adjusting smart glasses he only needed for reading, Mr. Williams glanced upward.</p><p>“Mr. Honda. How can I help you?” The offer was tossed out errantly, it’s giver distracted.</p><p>With a very business-like manner, Kiku spoke the first ploy that came to mind. “I was looking over the risk assessment for grounds of lawsuit. I need a report on anything from the cruise last month that might be of interest.”</p><p>This request was pure nonsense of course. There was no legal bearing to do any of this, since Matthew and Lars both took paid holidays off. This bluff was rather weak beyond it’s surly initial request.</p><p>Matthew saw through it instantly, his kind smile dropping faintly. “Why sir, I don’t believe you have grounds to request that information.”</p><p>Kiku pursed his lips in temporary defeat, but he was not quelled for long. “My apologies if I was rude, Matthew-san. I’m only looking out for my best friend’s interests.”</p><p>The other man was a diplomatic enigma, daring to be so charming and freckled. “That’s very kind of you. Maybe Lars can fill you in on what happened?”</p><p>Lars had been absolutely silent about the cruise, only grunting or emotionally constipated. <em> Drat </em>, Kiku was foiled on both fronts. He needed a battle strategy immediately. He noted the calendar on Matthew’s messy desk. There was a Stanford sweater hanging off the back of the office chair. A family picture of a younger Matthew, his dog as a puppy, and some sort of parental figure was displayed. A woman in a studded jean jacket was with Matthew, looking strikingly familiar.</p><p>Was that… Amelia? No. Kiku could not afford to be distracted. A very expensive bet was on the line. There were piles of pretty blondes in the USA, and Kiku could barely tell them apart. The chance that this sisterly figure could be a younger Amelia was ridiculous.</p><p>“Stanford, Mr. Williams?”</p><p>The secretary nodded, finished with whatever petty task from prior. “Oh yes. I attended for four years. Maybe someday I can finish my degree.”</p><p>This revelation was downright unfair. Kiku was hardly a protege genius. He struggled, scraped, and dragged his way through both the American and Japanese school systems. Kiku was not a simpleton, but he thrived more in social settings. Despite making average grades his entire life, social acuity made the shorter male a vicious lawyer.</p><p>So far, Matthew was startlingly intelligent, focused, and hard to distract. There was only one tactic left, raw embarrassment. Kiku cleared his throat before speaking again. “Education is a most noble pursuit. I can only imagine how supportive Lars would be over a colleague improving himself.”</p><p>At the mention of Lars, Matthew’s sophistication dissolved. Ah, so this effect went both ways. Blushing, there was a slight stammering of a rebuttal. “Ah. Lars. He is very kind, and  generous. Um, you know, for an employer. Because toxic workplaces are only due to bad leadership. Which he isn’t bad… You know…”</p><p>Matthew silenced uselessly, hiding in his arms. Lars had done the exact same thing. The only difference was that faint hickeys hadn’t peeked out from a collar. Oh how delicious was this news? Lars must have inflicted these marks. The jealously protective boss wouldn’t allow anyone else so close to his personal assistant.</p><p>Light with victorious glee, Kiku contained himself as he fled. “He is very kind. Have a nice afternoon Mr. Williams.”</p><p>Skulking off to his office a floor above, Kiku spotted several other people looking busy nearby. The janitor gave the least amount of pretense, using his broom as a leaning prop. With a flourish of hands, Kiku announced the long awaited confirmation. “Kisses, but no other stuff. Pay up!”</p><p>The other co-workers complained as they handed over some loose cash. A few were given several ten dollar bills, grinning as they counted their gambling spoils. Corporate culture was the worst, but very profitable.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Death In Heels</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Matthew Williams was the most frustrating creature Vash Zwingli ever encountered. He had been ordered to destroy this man’s life with Claude’s near infinite resources. The salty legal advisor had used every angle, and dug deep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vash found nothing on Matthew. The secretary had been a home boy born and raised in Nebraska. Born out of wedlock, his father was unknown, though likely from Canada. Matthew’s mother, a chain smoking stripper and bingo clerk, had two children from unknown fathers. The mother passed away two years ago to lung cancer, surprising no one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew never once committed a crime, or so much as smoked a cigarette. He played hockey from the time he could stand. He was a brilliant star in Stanford medical school. He used to volunteer at animal shelters. This infuriating secretary was just too pure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vash gave up trying to incriminate the Berg Industries employee directly. There was that sister, Amelia. If Matthew was a saint, Amelia was hell incarnate. Before her name change, the fiery woman had already done time for breaking and entry. Public drunkenness, assaulting cops, and public property destruction were the icing of her criminal career.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of this information was scoured from purely criminal connections, costing Vash thousands in bribes. It was merely another factor of his work, given how deep his roots went.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a long distance relationship or three, Amelia Foster Williams vanished to the wilds of Russia. She returned four years later to America, hiding in a cargo crate. With vaguely septic C-section stitching and a new name, Amelia Arturovna Braginskaya was haunted by darkness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first store she worked at upon returning mysteriously burned to the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The family of a farm she worked at was killed during a robbery.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another name change and three states later, the shady sibling’s luck turned. Now Amelia Freedom Jones, she resided in a dumpy trailer park with her angelic half brother Matthew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were so many unanswered questions. How did Amelia survive purely on cash for so long? Where was her money coming from? What happened in Russia? She had a faint C-section scar, obviously once pregnant. Where was the baby now?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brooding in his dim office, Vash Zwingli pondered the challenge before him. Amelia Braginskaya. That last name was distinctive and dangerous, dark on the edges of memory. Why was it so important? Vash stared out the window at grey craggy city, cars in between skyscrapers like ants.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The realization struck him fiercely. Dropping his pen, Vash rushed back to his glass top desk. Calling forbidden archaic connections from the Soviet era, he scribbled down his worst confirmation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Braginsky was an old guard crime family from Moscow. They were supposed to all be dead after the last violent purge. All of Moscow had finally coughed up the diseased branch of a long burned tree. There was supposed to be no traces </span>
  <em>
    <span>left</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Of course, how Vash knew all of this was top secret. It was good to have friends in many places.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amelia was the girlfriend or wife of a prominent figure within a dying crime family. Her history made sense now. Her sparing tattoos now explained her criminal career. It was clear that crime money had covered her ass this long, and likely paid for Matthew’s education.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Did Matthew know his half sister was involved in crime? If so, this was wonderfully destructive news. Actually excited for once, Vash tossed relevant papers in his suitcase. Claude was going to be overjoyed with these results. Maybe Vash would get a bonus and take a few days off on an island?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaving the sanctity of an office building, night had fully descended upon humanity. Despite the city’s orange hazed efforts, there were pockets of darkness. One shadowy stretch reigned between Vash and his very expensive car. Gleams of faint street lights on the car body was usually enough to go by. Today even this was absent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fumbling with keys, Vash looked for his car starter. In a display of nighttime agility, he dropped the whole lot. With a growl of frustration, he kneeled to grab the jingling ring of keys. He froze a second after, hands clutching metal with white knuckles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heard a sound behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vash looked back with a whip of head movement, eyes wide. He tried to scrutinize the dim gloom of the corporate parking lot. It was a largely fruitless effort, all more of the same greys. It was probably nothing. Vash was too inside his own head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing, he tried to stay calm. The strides to his car were a little longer. Not showing unease was key. Fifteen feet from his car, Vash’s heart rate spiked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The distinctive sound of high heels on concrete crunched from the darkness. It was drawing closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello?” The lawyer called out, backing slowly to his vehicle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A haunting female figure entered his visual range, faint street light shining off knee length boots. Her face was distorted by shadows of bone structure, identity veiled. The woman’s charming drawl was unmistakable, from a deep south state. “You look like you need a fun time mister.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, thank god. It was just a random prostitute. No one else would wear knee highs and netting in such places. Vash looked over what little he could see, mildly impressed. It was clear this woman was a busty southern beauty. The only light she emitted was the orange dot of a cigarette.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm, maybe. Depends on who the fun is with.” Vash countered, not one to turn down a quick fuck. It was one of the perks of being unattached to anyone. He smirked, releasing the death grip on his car keys.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The female figure sauntered over, entering the vague range of a dying street lamp. “I’m a whole lotta fun darling, I guarantee.” Her face was finally revealed, making Vash’s blood run cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was Amelia Jones, a sultry grin across her tan face. “Oh fuck!” Vash cursed in native Swiss, turning to run for the car. He never even realized his attacker had a baseball bat until it struck him from behind. The impact was a bloom of pain all down his spine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Falling to cool damp concrete, Vash’s vision swam. Red hot heels entered his vision as he struggled to stand. A distinctive growl of threat was heard, sensual as it was deadly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You and me are gonna have a nice chat, Mr. Zwingli.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second bat strike knocked Vash square into dreamless darkness.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vash woke with a pounding headache, his skin cold and wet. The rain dropped on him in fat drops, revealing his nudity. The lawyer was sore and locked in an awkward position. Ropes secured him thoroughly in a hog tied predicament, belly pressed on ashen soggy carpet. It took great effort to open his eyes and look around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was in the burnt out basement of a house, older ruins from the sixties or earlier. A weak coleman lamp revealed just how doomed Vash was. The few scraps of wallpaper that remained smacked of paisley and faded olive green. Seeing the sheer damage in the walls, it was clear this place was stripped and burned decades ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vash tried to scream, but failed. It was garbled grunts at best. His jaw ached, secured by a… ball bag?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh look at you darlin’. You didn’t die from having your brain shook up.” A female voice cooed in a mocking manner, lacking all compassion. Vash flicked bloodshot eyes to the source, the prostitute of before. She didn’t bother to change from her fishnets of earlier, dry and relaxed under an all american umbrella.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vash tried to speak again, but failed to produce real noise. His assaulter tutted him with a wagging finger, smooth skin covered by blue medical gloves. “Little birds aint supposed to sing. Predators might find ‘em.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Teasingly looking over the trapped lawyer, cold blue eyes analyzed him like he was a slab of beef. She crouched as she came close, tracing a finger over Vash’s shiny wet flesh. “I don’t like city folk lookin’ fer me. You were naughty to try.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh fuck, she’s going to kill me</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Now, yer thinkin’ I’m gonna kill ya. That would be correct to assume. You see, I’ve come a long ways from Moscow, and there’s no one making me go back. That whore city killed my Ivy, and my baby Annie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh fuck, she was really married to the Russian mob</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a creak of leather boots, the deranged woman stood. She loosened the ball gag as she chatted more in strong drawl. “I’m supposin’ you got last words.” She then stood, heaving a sharp fireman’s axe over one shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spitting out the rubber ball, Vash coughed up dirty spittle. Sucking in a panicked breath, he uttered the only thing that might save him. “I’m not worth murder, I have connections, rich ones. I’m in LUX pockets, and they go deep. We can work something out!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amelia chuckled, an inhuman gleam to her expression. “Darlin’, I was hitched to the head of the Russian mob. Money is not my priority.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh fuck, she’s killing me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Vash begged as Amelia postured with her cherry red axe, pissing himself in gut wrenching terror. “Please anything, I don’t want to die! I can get you anything you want, I swear!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At this, her sickly saccharine charms turned dark. There was pure hate in her sapphire eyes. “You can’t bring back Ivy, or my baby.” With this the axe swung down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“PLEASE I’LL DO ANYTHING, I--”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Trial By Embarrassment</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The charity barbeque was in full swing at the modest community centre. Matthew was in charge of collections, flitting through the crowds. He still liked to volunteer from time to time, genuinely wanting the small township to become a better place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In all honesty, this event was going to fail until Amelia stepped up. Her uniquely cajun burgers were grilled just right, with a secret blend of meats and spices. It was a long held family recipe she refused to divulge to anyone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Regardless, Amelia’s excellent grill skills doubled attendance. The late summer get together had raised over one thousand dollars in proceeds, all going to a local foster care centre. Several orphans were also here, mainly to play up the sympathy. It helped that the kids had a blast at the snack table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Helping out the rural community made Matthew’s heart lighter. It made sacrificing his Sunday worth every second. As a local garage band of passable quality played, Matthew greeted known citizens and neighbours from the trailer park.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This burger is amazing! What blend is it?” One older man inquired.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Family secret, Phil.” Matthew chided, waving back to the kind associate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aww you must know.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Nope, ask Amelia.” With that, Matthew headed to the folding table of a bar for a cold beer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Little did Matthew know, two important guests were in the parking lot. Kiku’s fuel efficient car was parked, the driver rubbing his temples. Kiku had been tested for days by his normally stoic friend. In short, Lars was anxiously losing his mind. He would not stop looking at his phone for a response from his text. It made hanging out with the guy impossible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiku’s attempts to soothe his friend fell on deaf ears. “I’m sure Matthew-san is busy today. It’s a day off. Look, we’re at a charity barbeque. Have beer, eat meat and potato salad. This is easy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars squeezed a stress ball, tightly wound. “Why are we here Kiku?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Berg Industries employs half this crappy town. The least we can do is show up to a community centre you helped build.” With a roll of eyes, Kiku got out. Despite the last of summer in motion, the heat was still terrible. “I pray they have air conditioning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars squinted at the modest brick structure before him, unsure. “Did I? I thought this was a veterans affairs building.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiku tugged the stubborn ally out of the car after walking around. “It was revitalized for community events, Lars-san. Move!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars grumbled as he was dragged out of the machine. “It’s just a dumb charity thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiku was not to be dissuaded from his personal mission, ineffectively pushing Lars forward. “It’s a dumb charity thing that Amelia is doing. I’m trying to score relationship points. I need a wingman.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The much taller blonde went along with things, finally. “Why? I’m gross right now. I want to stay home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly! I will look better next to you… sweating a lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars was genuinely offended, glaring at the shorter male bossing him around. He was only a little… okay, very sweaty, and chewed his nails off. The soul warming kiss he experienced days ago haunted his days and nights. He had no idea how to deal with that, or his criminally cute secretary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The event was exactly what Lars expected. There was a potluck style table of food, a table acting as a bar, and a shit band playing. There was a game of horseshoes going on behind the building. Lower class cretins of every shade wandered through, littered with the very orphans this charity was assisting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t like Lars to be quite this miserable. He was sleep deprived and maybe hungry for kisses. He wasn’t supposed to want his secretary this badly. He was supposed to be a good person. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why couldn’t he be a better person?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His criticism for the entire event peaked when he saw Kiku’s latest flame. Dear god, it was that sassy stripper from the Birds Of Paradise. He turned to his friend in disgust. “That’s her, that’s the one? Boobs ahoy chick from that shitty club?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiku furrowed his brows in anger, gesturing to Amelia in slutty cut off shorts. She wore a “1% angel, 99% devil” apron as she grilled pink patties. “Don’t you ruin this for me. Boobs ahoy has a name. Amelia is smart and funny and her abs are insane. It takes a lot of fitness to be an exotic dancer!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars put up his hands in caution. “Fine fine, I’m wingman. Let’s go… wing it I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>God. Watching Kiku flirt was painful. He was so adoring yet formal with women. His mother had drilled hardcore manners into him when he was raised in Japan, and it showed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are most beautiful Amelia.” Kiku gushed, having to look up at his latest fixation. The stunning American beauty was taller than him before the high heels.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amelia offered a sweet smile. “Thank ya darlin’. You wanna burger? Family recipe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiku did a small bow, a habit that sometimes reappeared. “I would be honoured.” Taking a burger, he bit into it. After a few chews, he perked up. “This is delicious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amelia batted her lashes at such praise. She looked to Lars with dashing charms, but the man was immune. After a dozen arm candy girlfriends and gold diggers, he gave zero fucks. “Wanna try? Last one.” She offered the last burger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Lars was very clear. He didn’t want to eat random people’s food, let alone be here. What was Matthew doing? Where was Matthew? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why couldn’t he make out with Matthew?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s for charity. Do you hate orphans, Lars-san?” Even Kiku was on his case.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine! Give me the fucking sandwich!” Lars snapped, anxious and taut since the beginning of the week.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amelia raised a brow, but handed the food over. Lars took a big bite out of spite, but immediately slowed. The burger was tasty, but there was a certain something to it. He had never tasted meat like this flavour profile before. “What is this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amelia shrugged adorably, making Kiku swoon. “Beef, pork belly, secret herbs and spices. It’s a family secret don’t ya know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s good. But I’m not really hungry.” Lars complimented the chef, setting the paper plate down. Kiku stole the bitten sandwich, stacking it on his own. Lars teased his best friend. “Savage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, you gave up free food.” Kiku had no shame.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s awful nice to see you come to the charity, Mr. van den Berg. There’s some fancy raffle prizes. A game of horseshoes. Any donations would go a long way for these kids.” Amelia sure was playing this charity angle like a violin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars couldn’t help it. He was suspicious by nature after his brother tried to kill him a hundred times with food allergies. “How do you know me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The very busty chef giggled as she adjusted her apron. “Matthew never shuts up about you. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>loves</span>
  </em>
  <span> you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The CEO’s brain skipped slightly, one eye twitching. The word love slugged him hard in the gut. Did Matthew love him? The question was completely paralyzing. Things somehow became worse, when Matthew himself appeared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew turned from a comfortable diplomat to an emotion rattled lump. “What is… Oh um… Hi, Lars. Hi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi.” Lars was hardly better, wringing his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is the guy you want to kiss and--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amelia’s singsong teasing was cut off by a frantic whining Matthew. “Oh my god, can you just shut up!? This is my boss! Why are you being such a horrible sister!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The supposed sibling was pleased with herself. “I have the right to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiku almost dropped his plate at the revelation. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew looked to his technical superior, less fumbled than with Lars. “Oh. This is my sister, Amelia. I live at her place.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kiku, can we talk?” Lars was once more salty and miserable. He towed Kiku along to a more private corner of the room. Likewise, Matthew was trying to shut up his sister just as desperately, to no avail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah…” The lawyer was just as stunned, only snapping out of it when his literal boss bitched him out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You fucked my secretary’s sister!” Lars seethed as he ranted in a harsh whisper. “I swear to god you have to stick your dick in everything!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiku was wide eyed as he tried to process things. “I didn’t know! She’s really pretty!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was not the first time Kiku’s judgement had pulled the boys into a sticky situation. Lars hid his face in his hands, then dragged them downward. Looking upwards to search for his patience, the taller blonde took a deep breath. “This is fine. I’ll be fine. We just need to act cool and exit as soon as--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew dashed over, bumping a few people in the crowd. As tedious as Kiku, the guy apologized every single time he did so. Lars’s brain decided to fall out again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-- Possib... Buh. Um. H-h-hi Matthew.” Lars broke out into a dopey blushing smile, the rest of the room dropping away from his attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see you came to the charity barbeque.” Matthew sounded more coherent, but barely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars mumbled dreamily, not looking anywhere else but his secretary. “Yeah, because orphans and stuff.” Both morons telegraphed mutual attraction. Kiku couldn’t unsee it, after looking up classic body language online. To put it bluntly, Lars seemed very gay in retrospect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hmm. Maybe Kiku was taking that body language article too seriously. Even so, the Japanese-American was not impressed with his friend. Lars ragged on him in the past about romancing fellow employees and “ruining the workplace”. The second Lars was ensnared by Matthew’s skinny jean ass, such behaviour was magically ok.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was all so </span>
  <em>
    <span>hypocritical</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiku huffed and walked away. Lars probably didn’t notice anyway, making lovey eyes with his new flame.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amelia was now cleaning off her grill, more delicious than the hamburgers Kiku ate. Magnetized to the brash stripper, Kiku was once more at her food table. “So, I heard you are quite the catch, Miss Amelia.” This was, in every possible intention, a bad pun. Accused of not being funny, the workhorse of a corporate lawyer was attempting personal growth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm. It’s Miss Jones. I’m only Matthew’s half sister.” The woman seemed largely uninterested, but did drop a new bit of information.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiku wiggled a little at this new discovery. He already had sex with Amelia on a few occasions, but it was obviously all business. The very last lusty encounter was when Lars was away on that boat trip. That had been a kinky yet lovely evening, and the birth of an ideal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiku didn’t want to buy Amelia Jones. He wanted to earn her. He wanted to wake up next to her everyday and see that freckled face. Kiku wanted to date her right to the altar, then show her off to his massively extended family. He wanted to buy a </span>
  <em>
    <span>little dog</span>
  </em>
  <span> with her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Step one was getting the mysterious creature to shift perspective of Kiku. He knew the looks Amelia wore. He understood prostitutes, strippers, and sexual therapists. He was just a customer, or worse, a wad of cash right now. That would have to change immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiku tried again, just as lame as before. “So, I was hoping you could have a ball with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stunning American beauty was as smart as she was alluring. Her drawl was thick as she scrubbed her grill clean. She didn’t even look at him. “Mr. Honda, I do appreciate y’all patronage, but I will be clear. I’m off work hours, and unless this is a sexy escort thing…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiku shook his head, flustered. “No Miss Jones. I do not mean disrespect. I am attempting the puns to invite you on a date.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At this, Amelia snorted in humour. “That was puns?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>God, Kiku had already blown it. He wilted internally, but braved on. “Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Satisfied for now with her cookware hygiene, the smoking hot blonde squinted and took in Kiku visually. Her long lashes were dark with mascara, as bold as her blood red lipstick. “Is this a trophy thing, or some game y’all are pulling on me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiku bowed, a habit that never truly died. “No Miss Jones. I wish to go to a baseball game with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a vast understatement to say Kiku liked baseball. One of the few subjects he mastered was math. Baseball was a wonderland of averages, ratios, scores, and player statistics. All of this was wrapped up in a neat patriotic bow of sportsmanship. In Kiku’s mind, there was no better way to pass the time. Well, other than seeing Miss Jones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A miracle came down from hot lady heaven. The bodacious angels decided to grant blessing as Amelia looked down upon a humble Kiku. The height difference, a few inches, was just another kink of his in the flesh. Amelia really was perfect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stripper’s frosty expression thawed just enough. Her crimson lips curved up in half smile. “Well, I do love myself a good game of baseball. Why not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gleefully, Kiku exchanged information and plans. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thank you, hot lady heaven</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Trial By Patience</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sundays were Lars’s only sanity. It was the only time he was completely alone with his bunnies and thoughts. There were no sneering colleagues, curious minions, or… </span>
  <em>
    <span>Matthew</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew and his shy eyes, peeking over smart reading glasses. Matthew looked so cozy in his fitted pants, the very same Lars had picked for the fashion victim. The adorable secretary would show up with checkered flannel if Lars didn’t stop him. Even the enigmatic blonde’s various expressions made Lars want to curl up and die in his office from burning want.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No thoughts about that… that </span>
  <em>
    <span>man</span>
  </em>
  <span> today. Today was Sunday, and Lars was going to spend it locked up with his bunnies. After the disaster of a charity barbeque from yesterday, The stressed boss needed isolation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars had babbled nonsense in front of Matthew for twenty minutes. He then threw a cheque in collections and ran like Matthew was a house fire. The entire outing had been a mistake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>True to his lower class roots, Lars was laying around in an old university sweater. It had holes, stains, and botched repairs. He never dared leave the house without being wrapped in sensible brands. Inside his sanctuary, the spiky haired boss was another creature.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To put it bluntly, he was watching pirated documentaries about bunnies in hot orange pants he won from a ramen pack. This was his natural existence. Half his house was fully renovated in classic charm and modernity. Within this polished shelter, a few rooms still held onto the past.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars’s non-staged bedroom was a roll on the floor, true to Japanese culture. He had so many sleepovers with Kiku that he preferred the method. Plaster walls were peppered with bands from his youth, motivational quotes, and pictures of his dutch homeland. Tasteless emo music of decades past played as Lars let himself be walked on by pets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pets barely listened to their master as they hopped about and reacted to the bunny on TV. “No more Matthew. I am going to play it straight. Because I am not gay at all.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miffy the bunny sat on Lars like a loaf as he talked, not responding. She was a big fuzzy brown loaf, nearing seven kilograms. That was fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, Lars struggled not to glance at his phone. It was loaded with nice pictures of Matthew during the yacht trip. He could lose an hour to such things, and chose talking to animals instead. “He’s probably trying to fuck with my head like all the girls do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Money, a much smaller white bunny, investigated his hands for spinach leaves. There was never enough spinach or kale for Money.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Left to talk with himself, Lars quieted down. He swam in his own thoughts, until the phone rang softly. All but one pet ran to their hutches and open cages, naturally fearful of sudden change. In Miffy’s case, she was the size of a small dog. Her “cage” was just a box with a door cut out. The large pet still blinked sleepily on his chest, heavy as ever</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Speaking?” Lars answered lazily, unwilling to move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice of attraction incarnate made Lars’s brain shit itself. Dear god, Matthew was calling his house on a day off. Why in flaming hell was he calling? The CEO became so wound up he didn’t hear a thing Matthew said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You left the, um, very generous donation for the foster kids and ran away. So… Why did you need me today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Words fell out of Lars’s big dumb face. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lars, you invited me over for tea. You said it was very important.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boss struggled to recall ever saying this to his unreasonably hot secretary. It was really hard to remember anything he said at the lowbrow charity event. He lied through his teeth, improvising madly. “I, uh, yes? Yes, I did. Big time business stuff about conduct in the workplace.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh good. So… can you let me in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars’s brain once more shut off. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a long sigh through the electric connection. Was that disappointment? Why did Lars care about other people’s feelings? “I’ve been standing at your door for twenty minutes. You didn’t answer the doorbell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars almost dropped the phone at those words. Wait, what the hell? Why didn't he hear the doorbell ringing? Maybe he was swept up in watching the crappy documentary and feeding his rabbits. "Miffy, move!" he mumbled, trying to shove off the largest of his pets. Oh hell, he wasn't dressed properly to entertain guests!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the other end of the call, there was a dropping sound and something about Miffy? Muffins? Either way, the secretary was confused and tired. Matthew ended the call himself and jammed his phone in a back pocket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew could swear he heard tumbling down stairs as he waited impatiently. There was muffled cursing and sudden silence as someone finally neared the beautiful wooden door. The silhouette of Lars himself was glimpsed in coloured glass cut outs, skewed and orange.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In anticipation, the secretary picked up his new suitcase off the ground. Lars had bought it for him before the boat trip. Over five hundred dollars in gifts still sat uneasy with Matthew, but he wasn’t going to turn down free goods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars was acting stranger than usual, flipping between generous, miserable, and stuttering. Matthew was starting to go a little crazy from all the mixed signals. Hopefully this surprise invitation would clear up where the boundaries were.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The imagery that greeted Matthew was beyond expectation. It was his gruff boss, in a worn brown sweater with unknown language written on it. His burning orange sleep pants were obviously won from a pack of noodles, because the brand name was printed all over the flimsy fabric in hot red letters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was impossible to imagine this cheap figure was the same man that refused hockey jerseys as work clothes. Matthew hesitated saying anything, then gripped his suitcase nervously. “Lars. Um, I can see your boxers through your pants.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? I…” Lars looked down, now fully flustered. There was a notable hole on the inner thigh of the ugly pants. “I slept in, I didn’t… Please come in. I’m going to change, then we can discuss…” The poor man seemed to run out of oxygen, utterly vexed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Workplace conduct.” Matthew provided the empty air between them with context, a little rosy cheeked himself. His boss wore money print boxers and that was certainly something to learn. Nevermind his lonely desire to discover more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. That. Good.” Lars closed the door after Matthew entered, forgetting how to string words into sentences. He did that a lot since they first kissed. Matthew had impulsively hoped that snap flirtation wouldn’t backfire. Instead, it broke his boss down the IQ of a toddler.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Up the stairs in a flurry of movement, Lars left his guest to explore. Parched for a drink, Matthew found the kitchen down the hall. Downing tap water from a glass, he finally took in his surroundings. The house was classic metallic and coffee colours with orange glass accessories.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew felt like he was inside a kitchen from a magazine cover. It was too perfect and clean. Aside from trace animal hair and a few tiny bunny poops, it was like no one lived here. With the fridge mostly empty and the cupboards only full of ramen, the secretary foraged on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A bag of odd looking vegetable snacks was left out, crinkling as it was grabbed. Whatever it was smelled odd. Not thinking things through, Matthew tossed a little green chip in his mouth. It tasted disgusting like dry tree bark. Spitting out the disgusting chip, Matthew washed off his tongue in the empty sink.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That taste would be a memorable one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking a second look at the bag, Matthew realized his folly. Oh, this was pet rabbit treats. Now he felt like an idiot. With a crinkle of plastic, he sealed the ziplock bag of pet food and put it back on the glass top table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A small thump of movement echoed in the large home. Something was coming down the stairs fast. Less than ten seconds after putting the pet food down, there were three bunnies peeking into the room. Two were small and adorably fluffy. One was not tiny. One bunny was the size of a goddamn dog, the biggest Matthew had ever seen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi giant bunny thing?” Matthew greeted with uncertainty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The small white bunny hopped on the spat out treat, eating it instantly. These things were voracious for terrible plant treats! Cluing in, Matthew picked up the pet food. “You guys like these?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All three bunnies hopped over, fearless for food. The biggest one stood on its hind feet and tried to climb Matthew for the goods. It was clear these beasts meant business.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Okay. I’ll give you guys one.” One more treat was taken out, broken out to be shared. All three bunnies now hopped around him and begged. The white bunny immediately swooped in to eat whatever hit the floor. It was promptly squashed by the large bunny, who ate everything that landed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The third bunny settled for sniffing Matthew’s stonewashed jeans. It perched on its hind feet as Matthew offered a fresh treat. The white bunny sulked as its companion feasted, trying to steal more and failing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, these guys were pretty cute. Avoiding two tiny bunny poops, Matthew sat on the floor. He was quiet and still as the pets investigated him. Deeming the wheaten blonde harmless, all three bunnies tried to climb him and reach the rest of the treats.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you guys are little food vultures aren’t you.” Matthew whispered, watching them search his shirt for crumbs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The faint sounds of cursing indicated Lars was finally returning. This was confirmed by the appearance of the tall male. Wearing an orange shirt and newer jeans, Lars ran his hand nervously through stuck up hair. It was a surprise to Matthew to discover his boss’s hair was not all gel products. It seemed to be a cliff of blonde mostly on its own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“H-hi.” Lars was a stuttering mess today as well. This might be a repeat of the charity barbeque all over again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew struggled with sounding intelligent. He had never seen Lars in anything but power suits until today. These comfy jeans hugged Lar’s legs in a new and inspiring way. Largely, they inspired Matthew to see underneath. Damn, it was hard to focus again. Only one stupid word was uttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jeans.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars blushed richly, looking away. “I um. Yeah. For at home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew realized he was staring and focused on the cream coloured floor tiles. “Oh. You… you needed to see me sir?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lars, not sir. Yes, I needed your opinion on…” It was obvious Lars was searching the room for any excuse possible. Darting glances settled on Matthew’s suitcase. “... workplace safety and conduct. We’re due for inspection in most of the factories, and I need to make up some presentation… You know, that shows I give a shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This seemed like a legitimate excuse, so Matthew feigned ignorance. “Of course, I’ll get up and help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without thinking, Lars offered him a hand to stand. Matthew took it instantly, forgetting the rest of the world again. It was a strong warm grip. It was easy to imagine such touches pinning him to a mattress. Matthew coughed awkwardly after, shocked at his own horny imagination.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars was also struggling with the interaction, retracting his grip in mechanical fashion. He failed to make sentences, suddenly more interested in his pet rabbits. Gathering up the smallest pet,  he was more bashful than a lovesick teen. “Um. I’ll… put the bunnies away. We can, um. Come on Money.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a shaking of the bag of bunny treats, the other two pets followed as beckoned. Matthew settled in the fake yet beautiful living room. He had to collect his wits and behave. Four months of working around a handsome man was frying his love starved homosexual brain. This was especially the case since Lars kissed him back with true passion.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, that divine kiss.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew wanted to melt, remembering their admissions of mutual attraction. Shuttering a sigh, he kneaded his own groin in want. Fuck, he needed to be sexually ravaged until he couldn’t talk anymore. Such alluring cloudy thoughts were snapped out of quickly. He could hear Lars coming down the fucking stairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew had almost touched himself in his boss’s house. This was bad. This was very extremely bad. The very idea of Lars catching him in the act of masturbating was titillating. Matthew was being insanely unprofessional right now and…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars returned, just as flustered. He twiddled his thumbs, sitting in wooden fashion beside Matthew. It didn’t help that the guy was barely three inches away. Hungry green eyes were felt by the secretary as he struggled to behave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They didn’t talk much, and when they did, it was mostly conversational grunts. Five awkward minutes later, Matthew was fighting his squirming mating instincts valiantly. Why couldn’t Lars catch a clue and fuck him into the floor? They both felt this building chemistry after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Impatient for once, Matthew leaned closer. “So… I thought the workplace might be more easy to work in if we. You know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know?” Lars mumbled thickly, adjusting how he sat slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Matthew repeated desperately, not used to being so pushy. “Clear the air with us.” God, he felt ridiculous even saying whatever this was. Being unattended and desperately turned on too long was frying Matthew’s brain. “I’m… I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not wrong. I mean… We kissed. I’m not supposed to do that. With employees… Is bad…” Lars was searing into his soul with those emerald eyes, and it was so hot.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Take me Lars. Take my virginity. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Matthew had waited his adult life for the right person. The stoic yet intelligent Dutchman seemed like a perfect choice in this heady mood. “Is it though?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars almost choked at this, turning a final rosy shade of blush. “I… What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew pushed the farthest he was willing to go without feeling uncomfortable. Being the dominant half of anything was not his usual routine except in hockey matches. He gently placed a hand on Lars’s thigh, petting softly once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please kiss me again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars finally smiled warmly, tracing his own fingers over Matthew’s.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Matthew stumbled home, unable to stop smiling. His soul sang, and his body was the church choir accompanying it’s tribute. Opening the screen door of the trailer, he saw a familiar sight. It was his sister before work. She was sprawled on the abused couch that was Matthew’s bed. A trashy drama show played on the wall mounted TV as she drank wine from the bottle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Partially drunk on a Saturday was not usual for Amelia. She needed the inebriation to deal with the hordes of groping men at work. “Hey Mattie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” It was a one word reply, but it was all Amelia needed. As Kuma greeted her master for petting and attention, the startlingly intelligent sibling sat up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You. You got laid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew put all his focus into petting his white fluffy bear of a dog, expression tense. Was he showing it that badly? He didn’t even have sex in the fuller sense. “None of your business.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me!” Amelia whined playfully, lolling closer. “Please please please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew’s rosy humility was sawed at like a tree. He broke after several minutes of needling demands for gossip. “I didn’t have sex.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amelia hung onto every syllable the same as her wine bottle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… We kissed a lot, and touched, and we are, uh. Agreeing to stay low profile while we figure out what this is.” Matthew felt ready to cook from his own heated feeling as he gave the stumbled excuse. A virgin in his mid twenties, he was scared to say anything at all. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ever</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some of this might even be a lie. It was hard to decipher a bunch of moaning noises as Matthew petted his boss’s aching body. Both of them had been largely incoherent for most of the visit. God willing, this series of intimate explorations would result in a relationship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hopefully nothing would backfire and Matthew might keep his job.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Claude's Defence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The world was momentum and change. People came and went like the wind. Business trends flipped monthly and everything yet nothing shifted. Once much more controlling, Claude was willing to let go of many control issues. Someone ledgers were falsified. Sometimes problems had to shut up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the case of missing lawyers and enforcers, the billionaire was hardly complacent. Vash had not reported in progress reports for two weeks. His car was missing, along with millions of dollars in shady origin. Somewhere along the line, Vash had failed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vash Zwingli, heartless as lawyers came, never failed. He had no allegiances other than pay. He fucked over anyone, or anything, to complete his task. He was a classic legal enforcer that Lux Corporation would not exist without.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Certainly, due to the man’s reputation, Claude kept massive professional distance. There were secret phone numbers, written messages, and hidden meetings. None of this was electronically recorded of course. Two weeks without any reports was still unacceptable. Vash knew their arrangement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question was, who got to Mr. Zwingli? Was the legal asset being bribed at a higher price and turned? That couldn’t be possible, given Claude’s deep pockets. He only knew of fifty or so billionaires above him. Many of them were busy with their own problems on other continents.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude was content to rule rural America through a sprawling rental empire and chain store monopoly. He traded luxury goods once, but that was a miser’s game in any long run. Only the name remained from that time of naivety. Capitalizing the 99% was where the truly insane money resided. It was a step Dad had been unwilling to make in his era.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daddy had never been a billionaire by age 27. Dear old dad had never owned a yacht named after the downfall of his enemies. Dad never knew shit, entrenched in nostalgic lies from the 1950’s. Only the biggest creatures survived in the ocean, and Claude was a whale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was exactly why one lawyer going missing was a problem. That soldier of legal acquisition knew things, things that could harpoon Claude’s outward image. Vash needed to be found as soon as possible. If he had been turned, perhaps by an opposing Russian oligarch Claude pissed off… Well. Decisions would be made.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The charming blonde brooded in his gilded lair of a condo, high above Chicago. He watched the cars below in the night, scurrying red and white ants of light. Pressed against the massive window, he could only stew and think over his last contact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vash had sent him a handwritten note via messenger boy two weeks ago. It was cryptic enough, but still good news at the time. Matthew Williams, the blue collar prick that sullied Claude’s face, was a saint. He had never broken a law in his life. He never had a single parking ticket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nobody was that clean, and Claude was convinced of it. The good news was that his family was rife with dirt and buried skeletons. The secretary’s mother, dead for a few years now, lived a transient lifestyle for years without credit. She was a ghost that checked into mental institutions many times, before raising her two bastard children.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The half sister, Amelia Foster Williams, was a puzzle. Her history did not exist between birth and returning to America. She even returned with a new name of Amelia Freedom Jones. Only big money or big crime could wipe out memories with efficiency.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Who was Amelia? Why was Vash so convinced she was fuel that could burn Berg Industries to the ground? Where the fuck was Vash hiding?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The entire issue was troubling. Claude sighed as he sipped his vintage Chateau Margaux. It wasn’t his usual wine, but it would do until his butler stocked the younger Cheval Blanc. He pried himself from the window. He knew looking at the streets of his empire wouldn’t find Vash, but it made him feel better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His loyal butler and bodyguard, Carlos Garcia, appeared. Despite his previously criminal past and Cuban roots, the employee was a stunning worker. Put in the most basic of terms, Carlos was efficient at handling all estate issues. Given that Claude owned four properties, a mega yacht, and two private jets, this was quite the boast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. van den Berg, the investigator has returned with news.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude was chaste and short with his minions as usual. It couldn’t be helped when he sat so high up in his golden throne. “Send him in. I am presentable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The butler didn’t so much as flinch, bowing deeply. “Yes sir.” The servant was gone in seconds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The crystal flute of wine was set down with trained grace, honed by years of schooling. Claude straightened out a wrinkle in his deceptively plain suit. It actually cost thousands per piece, pulled out of high fashion agencies from Milan. Claude wouldn’t dare look like a peasant. Deeming himself ready, he posed elegantly in a leather wing chair. Every movement was a precise act he groomed to perfection. There was no such thing as bad pictures for the CEO of Lux Corporation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The investigator was shabby compared to Claude’s radiance as she entered. The mousy woman sat without invitation. She was familiar with the golden creature before her after years of service. “Mr. van den Berg, I have critical news of your legal associate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude gestured kindly, a benevolent god among men. “What is it, my dear Michelle?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His Ferrari was found in a lake in Nebraska.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The news made Claude pause, plush lips parted in shock. No one threw away a Ferrari unless they were absurdly rich and bored. Vash was neither of these things. “Surely you joke?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hardly. It was dragged out last week after someone reported suspicious activity.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude swallowed the news painfully, a spike of fear beneath glamourous expression. He had to ask. He had to know. “Was there… A body?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman shook her head resolutely, dark curls of hair bouncing with the motion. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing was in the car. The brake line was intact. My sources from the area are stumped. The cinder block that was placed on the gas pedal had no DNA to work with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>. This truly was the worst case scenario. Someone had taken Vash against his will. He loved that car. The only pictures he had on his desk were of his daughter Lilly, and the slick black vehicle polished up at an auto show.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, things could be worse. This was probably a kidnapping. “Has there been any ransom demands or…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silence in the room was poignant. Claude stared hard out the window again, tense in his chair. “When was he last seen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The investigator was not one to candy coat the truth, cool in tone as she spoke. “Two weeks ago. He bought a ticket for Nebraska then… Vanished. His credit card was active once after that, but he wasn’t seen personally.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude felt cold in his bones, knowing the dire reality. People didn’t vanish without good reason. A Ferrari didn’t usually drive itself into a lake. Vash was very punctual with his weekly reports, honest about taking time off for his daughter or self interests. After all, Claude did trust Vash, and vice versa.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is there… a possibility he was murdered?” Claude felt sick asking the very question. He was a ruthless businessman, but he had no stomach for violence. He was genuinely traumatized when that uncouth secretary hit him with a serving tray. No one had dared approach him like that since… Ever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even scarring Lars’s face years ago had been an accident. The faulty lie of a brother still deserved it all the same. Bad blood was difficult to wash out of Claude’s kind supple hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The response he heard made him cringe. “We may have to consider that possibility, Mr. van den Berg.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude didn’t understand the world some days. He couldn’t grasp why the upper crust of the world was hated so fervently by common peasants. They should be happy to be graced with his residual wealth and generosity. Lars didn’t have to come to the yacht party if he was going to be so cruel with his criticisms. That uneducated caveman called Mr. Williams didn’t need to assault Claude with his brutish existence. Things were so complicated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The CEO finally decided as he spoke. “I’ll go to Nebraska myself and talk to my pond scum brother. He probably has everything to do with this. It reeks of his… mediocrity.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The usually meek investigator was bold today. “Do you honestly think your own family would kill one of your assets?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude glanced at her coolly, lost in thought. “I don’t know anymore, Michelle. But I’ll find out.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Be Nice To Your Driver</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Everything about this trip was awful. Claude was forced to take a regular flight from Chicago. The audacity of having to share cabin space with others was offensive to his delicate senses. After dealing with the tiresome public, the entitled billionaire was frisked at the airport and delayed the return of his luggage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yes, this was why Claude never visited the ugliest twig of the family tree.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least Claude had a private driver once he landed in the state. Claude rolled his luggage up to the airport curb expectantly. By his account, the private car was already late. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Five star rating service indeed</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Ten minutes later, a slick black car drove up to him and parked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A taller American in a black cap and suit came around, her blond hair in a professional looking braid. Her southern accent was thicker than her middle class mannerisms. “Apologies mister. Traffic was murder.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever. Put away my things.” Claude dismissed the servant, already in a bitter mood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a charming tip of the hat, the woman did as ordered. She opened the door as expected, and Claude made himself comfortable inside. With everything accounted for, he was driven into the inbred wilds of America.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When are we getting to the meeting? I’m already late.” Claude demanded, sipping the complimentary wine that came with the ride. It was fruity but light on the tongue, an acceptable apology for the valet’s tardiness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The female driver was puzzled, not daring to show her eyes. Good. This meant Claude was dominant in the conversation. “Meeting?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude was not impressed. “The meeting at… Rocky’s roadside diner. The entire reason I hired you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a second of hesitation as the driver clearly scrambled to answer. “Of… of course. We’re takin’ a shortcut.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, the drive was silent. In no time at all, the car pulled into a paved lot. It was a desolate diner beside a long dark highway. There were a few sparse cars around, spotted with Christian bumper stickers and light rust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have arrived.” The driver announced with little enthusiasm, opening the door again. Maybe she had been given more sass than expected. Claude left the vehicle, expression cold. It was official. This place was hell. The billionaire could already see artwork of trucks, roosters, and American flags on the walls inside. No doubt there were cracked vinyl seats in some sick shade of low income.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Entering with a jingle of a door bell, Claude’s assessment was right on the money. A grizzled man in a Nascar shirt sipped black coffee. A waitress in pink served an elderly man pea soup. Lars was tucked in a corner, making lovey eyes with his secretary. They were sharing a strawberry milkshake like gross dating teens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude caught conversation as he drifted closer, finally standing before the table. They didn’t notice him at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars trailed fingers over Matthew’s hand, his other arm propped on the table. Chin resting in his palm, Lars was all eyes for his employee. “Your eyes are so purple.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thug of a secretary batted devilish lashes. “Genetics. I’d be lost without glasses.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pissed over being ignored, Claude cleared his throat. Lars snapped to reality, sitting ramrod straight. “Professional topic of conversation!” he blurted out, slamming a fist down. Mr. Williams chuckled, smiling as he dug out a notepad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enjoying your date?” Claude sneered, unwilling to sit in the chair provided. It was probably filthy from lower class butts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars changed colours like the emotional constipated beet he was. Mr. Williams took it all in stride. Sipping milkshake, the secretary took note of the time. “You’re twenty minutes late, Mr. van den Berg.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have every right to be if we’re going to meet in this pedestrian dump.” Claude was shot a dirty look by the waitress as she passed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars finally came into his element, cruelly honest. “You don’t like my company, or my house, or anything in this shit hole town I’ve helped finance or employ. So, here we are, in a restaurant just as independently shitty as you are. Why the fuck did you demand to talk with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, the ugliest branch of the family tree was sharp today. Claude finally cut to the point, keen to escape. “What did you do to Vash?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a long moment as Lars shifted from anger to confusion. Mr. Williams was equally blank, looking to his boss for answers. The bastard brother was as elegant as ever. “What the fuck is a Vash?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude opened his mouth to argue more, then chewed his lip in thought. Lars was a garbage liar and his assistant’s background was clean. They didn’t have a reason to lie to him, yet. Everyone eventually did, except for Emma. She was a pretty nice sister in the long run.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, Claude lied. He didn’t want the idiot duo realizing Vash was a shady corporate spy. “A client of mine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars scoffed, unimpressed. He really was clueless about Vash’s potentially grim fate. “You know damn well you embarrassed me on your stupid yacht. What is this? Rubbing victory in my face? Fuck off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t received any calls in relation to a company or person called Vash.” Mr. Williams was disgustingly kind as he spoke. He flipped through his notebook, tongue stuck out in concentration. “We only have internal meetings and one budget review for the week.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude was wrong for once. He took this poorly, struggling to grasp who might harm his best legal asset. Lars was usually responsible for attacking Lux Corp. In all honesty, Claude was the only one trying to consume Berg Industries. It was family tradition by now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well… I’m sad to see the public education system produced something so backward. I must leave, before your stupidity causes injury to you. Being near a superior human makes you so angry. Jealousy, I’m sure.” Claude taunted the half brother with ease, smirking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lars acted as predicted in the usual way. He nearly knocked over his milkshake in fury as he stood, once more red. “You would die from shock if you ever lived in the real world, you giant mouth breathing bitch!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mr. Williams once more worked his usual magic, quelling the idiot with a touch. That personal assistant was very forward today. “This isn’t the best place Lars.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna punch his teeth in, Mattie. I’m gonna do it.” Lars hissed, still seething.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matthew’s chaste hand squeeze and kiss on the top of Lars’s hand killed any murderous instincts. Instead, he turned sheepish and calm. “I… Um. Okay. You get away this time, asshole.” Lars sat once more, only having eyes for his employee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Disgusting. Claude left in a huff, feeling less victorious than usual. Lars was more calm and productive around his very personal assistant. It really sucked the fun out of bugging the guy. Two steps out of the diner, Claude felt bizarrely dizzy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not wanting to show weakness in public, the CEO made it to his ride with standard grace. Dropping into the plush backseat, the door was slammed shut. Clutching his head, the pampered blonde closed his eyes. This headache was starting to get bad. “Driver take me to the hotel, I need to lay down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The car started on the journey, the servant silent. Vision swimming after ten minutes, Claude had to lay down in the back seat. “No, go to a hospital. I feel… Sick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The driver openly spoke for the first time since the airport. Her eyes were still shielded from view by the rim of that black cap. “You know what was the hardest thing to find?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question was rhetorical, obviously. Claude said nothing as his body grew numb and heavy. It was obvious they were heading deep into the rural landscape instead of civilization. His thumbs were clumsy and barely functional as he felt for his phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The driver spoke confidently, relaxing her previously subservient posture. “The hardest thing to find was a poison that wouldn’t ruin the taste of wine. I know you rich types enough. Fried food, damn boy. You can poison that with anything. Wine is fancier. Wine is delicate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude failed to find his phone, then realized something awful. It was on the floor, and he was rapidly losing motor control. Slumping unwillingly to gravity’s will, the trapped man struggled to grasp the device with drunk fingers. The smart phone slipped out of his grip uselessly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...And it should really start kickin’ in now. You know, you almost got away because of that meeting. You’d be the first to survive. Ah, but you aren’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Survive?” Claude mumbled, slipping into unconsciousness.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Claude woke up cold and wet. His body was heavy like before, but less powerful. Whatever he was drugged with was wearing off. Opening groggy eyes, he was in a dark basement. Tied to a wooden picnic table face up, the CEO was in big trouble. Duct tape bound his hands and feet, not that he could move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only light was cast by a camping lamp. It was set on a folding table littered with horrors. A series of medical and culinary tools was on display. All of it was cutting or sawing tools.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude instinctively tried to scream, but his cries went unheard. He was gagged with a rolled up sock and duct tape. The female driver of before appeared from another darkened room, missing her stylish hat. Able to see her golden locks and blue eyes, it was sharply obvious who the culprit was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was Amelia, Matthew William’s half sister. Claude would have realized it was her earlier, but those dazzling blue eyes had been hidden by a hat rim. The trapped billionaire wasn’t in the usual habit of memorizing all of his servant’s faces either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her southern accent was thick and confident. “Aw dang, the sedative wore off faster. Must have been the wine. Makes things messy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude tried to scream again, only making muffled noises of protest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I don’t mind working with a little music. Can’t say I’m not kind to a guest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The crazy woman picked up a deer skinning knife. She cut a perfect line down his legs, practiced in the motions. It was a pain unlike anything ever before, burning and screaming to edges of whiteness. Amelia was skinning him alive while he was paralyzed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignoring blind noises of pain, Amelia chatted in a charming manner. “You’re probably thinkin’ why me. Well fella, I’m gonna tell ya. You got too nosy. Your lawyer friend was gonna spill the beans. You had to show up, making things all… You made a mess, Mister.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She peeled back a panel of human skin with notable speed, using the skinning blade to slice any stuck sections free. Claude cried thick tears as paralysis prevented him from moving. Amelia scolded him as she worked. “You got into this. You tried to mess with my baby brother. He’s all I got left. Mattie’s finally found a sweetheart, and a great job… I’m not letting you ruin his life. No one fucks with my kin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With one thigh skinned and bleeding, the sociopath wasted no time at all. She sunk an eager meat cleaver into the joint of the hip. Claude’s world was electric screaming agony as he cried. The next sentence he heard killed his soul, and any hope of escape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My lord, you’re gonna be a lot of casseroles. This could take hours.”</span>
</p>
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<a name="section0018"><h2>18. American Sweetheart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Watching Matthew get dragged off to a seperate interrogation room, Amelia was guided along. The gorgeous blonde was herded by a very familiar brother duo, the Beilschmidts. The older German family was well rooted in a nearby town, with most of the tree following law enforcement.</p><p>They had been plaguing the William’s family for generations with their nosy ways. Mama had loved and coached her only surviving daughter, grooming her for this moment. How Amelia loved her mother dearly. The kindly parent passing away a few years ago had been world shaking.</p><p>“This way, Miss Jones.” The cop instructed, opening the metal blue door. Chips of paint showed the layer beneath was grungy and green. The same shade of green the cops tried to lock Mama away in.</p><p><i>God was a good lawyer.</i> If only Amelia wasn’t broke. She knew plenty of sound legal advisors to pull her out of this. It was a shame they all had Russian connections. Amelia sat obediently, playing dumb. It wasn’t hard to do while partially drunk.</p><p>“What’s all this about, Mister?” Amelia spoke in her signature drawl.</p><p>“We’ll be ready to speak soon.” The cold cop replied, locking her in the boring room. A younger Amelia would panic, but she was experienced now. She sat demurely at the metal table, her butt parked in a cold plastic chair. She knew the mirror was fake, and this was all being recorded.</p><p>She was left alone with her thoughts for a time. Leaving Amelia to stew were they? Well. She could stew for <i>years</i>. She was a terrific chef.</p><p>The cops were finally realizing this method wouldn’t work. The first real attempt was sent in, a nearly albino looking guy. Everyone knew Gilbert, he was as friendly as pigs came. All the same, he was still a pig.</p><p>“Miss Jones. We haven’t seen you in here for a while.” Gilbert greeted kindly, plopping down in his own seat. Ah, the good cop and bad cop routine.</p><p>Oh, the familiarity card. Like that was going to fucking work. Amelia wore her customer service smile as she rebutted. “I haven’t seen y’all at any of my charity barbecues. Mattie puts so much time into organizing them with the community.”</p><p>Gilbert cleared his throat, dismissing her obvious social block. “Do you know where your brother was the first of October?”</p><p>“Work. Probably sucking face with his boss.” Amelia was blatantly honest. Matthew was ready to jump his boss’s bones, and it showed in constant tiny details. In all honesty, Amelia couldn’t imagine being a virgin as long as her brother. The guy was an idiot or a saint.</p><p>“So, you’d say Mr. Williams is close to Mr. van den Berg?”</p><p>“Closer than glued popsicle sticks. My boy’s in love.” She sang a little at this answer. It was hard not to when it felt so good to share.</p><p>The questions were unceasing, all targeting Matthew. Did they truly think Matthew was capable of hurting anything? He went to school to save children as a doctor. He hosted charity events for foster kids. Matthew was ridiculously kind to a fault.</p><p>Defeated, the cop stood. “I’ll be just a moment, Miss. You want coffee? Doughnuts?”</p><p>“Doughnut. Jelly if ya got it.” Amelia replied with a saccharine fake smile. It was the very same a mother gave a dull child, loving but numb.</p><p>She wasn’t alone for long, now under fire. She was pestered from every angle about her own whereabouts. Naturally, Amelia lied her ass off. She had paid a local stripper with mental problems to march around town in her famous all American work gear. Meth made people do anything.</p><p>Melting anything incriminating in a corrosive agent, the lot had been tossed into the wetlands. A hand being completely intact had been a surprise to her. She really thought Claude had been kept in the barrel long enough.</p><p>Amelia’s plotted sighting around town and her practiced defense were enough to skew the tenacious cop. He was getting frustrated, his good humour melting away. Oh poor Gilbert, struggling to make headway. Dumb pig.</p><p>The authority figure smirked maliciously, now in mean mode. “You know, your mother was very sick. We know about her dealings. We know about the house. It’s just a matter of time, and we’ll dig the whole place up. Your entire family will be dragged down with you.”</p><p>There were two ways Amelia could go on this. She could attack back like the vicious wolf she was. Alternatively, she was drunk as ever. It was easy to cry drunk. Turning on the water works, she crumpled visually. “I’m… I’m sorry officer. My momma, I just miss her so much. She had so many problems, and her friends were weird, but… I still love her. I miss momma so much!”</p><p>At this, she buried her face in her arms, an inconsolable act of feelings. In truth, she still grieved for her mother. Amelia felt so lost without her guiding figure. Mama had caught her torturing small animals as a child. In benevolence, the perfect parent led the way to enlightenment.</p><p>Mama showed Amelia better avenues for her rage, She had loved the daughter for all her differences. Amelia had been passed the family secret, the recipe, and full access to the truth. There was a reason the family moved from France generations ago. Amelia was the only one left to carry this eldritch knowledge.</p><p>Besides, the world was wrong and unwilling to realize they were all animals. Animals ate each other all the time, and it was a healthy need to have. Man had always been the greatest hunt of all. If this ashole cop didn’t get off her case soon, he might end up on the menu.</p><p>Salvation came. Kiku was led in, very much like the cartoon heroes he admired. “There will be no more interrogating of my client!”</p><p>“Keeks, you came!” Amelia called out in relief. She was starting to run out of acting material and patience.</p><p>“You aren’t getting another word out of her without due cause!” The typically tranquil  man was so hot when he was this mad. Amelia sometimes wondered if she was selfish for liking this porcelain skinned toy. After her heady and violent marriage to a mobster, it was nice to have someone so cute. It was a delight to fawn over this delicate man, to tie him up, to fuck him. His gentle chivalry was a nice change as well.</p><p>Amelia quite liked being taken care of.</p>
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<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Shadows of Doubt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kiku and Lars were friends. They had always been friends, for years upon years. After Lars was mercilessly grilled by the police, the lanky boss felt rather shaken. He wanted to take shelter in Matthew’s surprisingly buff arms. He settled for his friend and a bag of cookies.</p><p>Matthew’s own future was questionable. Once his dog had found a human hand in the reedy wetlands, a lot of things were questionable. The hand was Claude’s, the only remains in murky reeds and rivers. To put it plainly, the cops had grilled Lars about killing his own brother. He had rough relations with Claude</p><p>“He just can’t, Kiku. He can’t.” Lars fumed between crumbly cookie bites. “Matthew’s not a killer.”</p><p>A friend from childhood, Kiku set his beer down. He was relaxed for the time being, blazer open and shirt rumpled. The bunnies hung out with them as Lars wheezed stressed complaints and terrors. As far as Kiku was concerned, Matthew was a potential risk. He had always been. Matthew was a shining hope from a family riddled with insanity.</p><p>Even through love tinted glasses, Kiku had to admit Matthew’s sister was a gamble. She was beauty, delight, talent… But also mystery. She spent years in jail, in the long shadows of Russia. She had a faint scar from a C-section that no medical society recalled. In devious fetish laced love, she was the definition of personal risk.</p><p>Kiku could only summon a small grunt. He deeply suspected he had made the wrong choice. Since springing Amelia free twelve hours ago, not a phone call or photo had followed. She was loose in the wind.</p><p>“No, Lars-san. Matthew could never kill a fly.” This statement was truth. Matthew actually caught spiders in the office and let them outside. In truth, Kiku just stepped on bugs. Matthew’s innocence was clear as day, so why was he being held in custody so long?</p><p>“Why won’t the cops let him go?” Lars asked open air again, not wanting a true answer.</p><p>“I don’t know.” Kiku answered honestly. He stared into the murky darkness of his beer bottle, hoping the choices he made would not lead to such darkness.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Judgement</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Matthew was held for a full suffering twenty four hours. The heat was put on him constantly in those green plaster walls. They believed he was capable of stealing away something so delicate, so valuable. Matthew couldn’t take a life. The inhumanity of such an action was unforgivable.</p><p>It was in this duress, this ceaseless interrogation that Matthew cracked. He broke after twenty hours of sleepless pressure. He stank, he was pretty hungry. Matthew was thirsty. He missed his dog. He wanted to rest on a soft bed with all the pillows.</p><p>Delirious from exhaustion, Matthew fell apart at the metal table. “I could never… I… I went to medical school to save people.”</p><p>The Beilschmidt brothers were known to be the very best of cops, sharing a patrol. Their ability to crumble the truth out of detainees was a well hidden secret. Today Gilbert was tearing Matthew a new one like a ferocious white wolf.</p><p>“You went there to learn techniques! To dissect! Admit you killed. We are finding trace DNA from the swamp of over five victims right now. There are at least five dead people, and I fully believe you were capable of destroying their lives!”</p><p>Weak and thirsty, Matthew sucked in a shaky breath. “I’m not, I’m… I’m trying to be good. My whole family is tainted but I’m trying my best to do better… I’m… I’m not them.” He then began to sob. “I want to go home. Let me go home.”</p><p>The dog of war was not satisfied. The pale officer paced after observing, grimacing. He then left. After a time, the good cop came in. He finally came with water, a nice meal, and promise. Ludwig spoke words of sanity and kindness. He spoke the truth, and a plan in pursuing such things.</p><p>In fatigue and relief, Matthew finally agreed to co-operate.</p><p>00000</p><p>The mist of a cool marsh sunrise surrounded Amelia. She stood on a soft wooden pier, rotted from time. In the gloom, a burned out house was far behind her. This was her sanctuary once. The people accused Mama of witchcraft, of terror and evil. They chased her out of town when the children were young, burning down the property.</p><p>Amelia’s revenge was years in the making. She would kill anyone that stood in the way of restoring her family’s image. Just thinking of how rotten this dock had become made Amelia quake with anger. She helped install it with her father before he disappeared into the fuzzy gaps of childhood memory. Father had been too weak to bear the family traditions. Mama made him silent. It was this reverence of strength that Amelia still admired to this moment.</p><p>The Williams name would be respected again.</p><p>In the crisp gloom of pre-morning, a shape approached. It was Matthew looking exhausted in a heavy denim jacket. “I thought I’d find you here.” In truth, Matthew had not come back since the great fire. It was too much pain for him, supposedly.</p><p>Amelia had a different view. This house was her chosen site of sacrifice to the old ways. This burnt house was her shrine to how things must be, all she knew. In the mist around the siblings, sound was muffled.</p><p>“Amelia.” Matthew called out, opening his arms for a hug. “I missed you. I was scared you ran out of town.”</p><p>“I don’t see why I need to. I’ve done nothin’ wrong.” The sister scoffed, giving him a tight squeeze back. “When did they let you out?”</p><p>“A few hours ago. I’m done. I’m done with cops,” Matthew groaned, leaning into his equally strong sister. He let go of their long hug, looking very depressed. “They think I killed that rich guy.”</p><p>“Baby, no. You couldn’t kill a fly as a kid.” Amelia cooed, pinching his cheeks.</p><p>“Thanks.” Matthew let himself be coddled, but he didn’t brighten up at all. He looked to his sister in seriousness, but without fear. “I guess what bugs me is why you killed him.”</p><p>Amelia raised her brows. “Them no good pigs tell you that?”</p><p>“My common sense tells me that. Every person that’s ever crossed me, us honestly… The cops dug up the school bully that made me cry in eighth grade. He was chopped up just like Lars's brother was.” Matthew spoke directly, unwilling to hide away from the truth this time.</p><p>Amelia backed away, offended. “I was a young thing. You can’t go pinnin’ some idiot’s death on me.”</p><p>“Collected teeth from seven missing people in your room. It doesn’t look good, sis.” Matthew repeated his point, frowning.</p><p>The great act was up. Decades of pretending evaporated between them, and Amelia looked exhausted from it. She stood quietly before her only blood sibling, arms open in vulnerability. “So this is how it ends, huh. This is yer fuckin’ brand of loyalty.” Her voice could cut right now.</p><p>There was a pregnant pause, then a sigh from Matthew. “No. I… I love you too much. I don’t want to see you rot in prison. Mama… Mama died like that.” He reached out, gently stroking his sister’s cheek. “You killed a lot of people, but you’re too good to die like that. You’re my big sis’.”</p><p>Amelia’s beautiful eyes welled with tears as her face was gently cupped. “They want the death penalty don’t they.”</p><p>Matthew nodded solemnly, returning hands to denim jacket pockets. “The media is going nuts, and the cops aren’t far behind me.”</p><p>The two siblings stood in the gloomy mists to face the lake. This place was family vacations, Mom, and rice crispy squares. It was love, now lost to fire and ritual, a tempest of storm wiping it all away. They looked to each other in understanding of the dire circumstances, a silent bond. They had always understood each other on some level. They were their mother’s children after all.</p><p>“Did you always know?” Amelia asked this softly, squeezing his hand once.</p><p>“I suspected, a long time. I never liked to think about it.” Matthew admitted, amused.</p><p>“What gave it away?”</p><p>As the brother spoke, he gestured wide with his hands. A silly habit, really. “Grade 11, Rorik Johnson. He tormented me for weeks, then poof! Disappeared. Left his bike in the middle of the street.”</p><p>Amelia mumbled something shyly, looking away. Matthew prompted her with a kind look. She finally gathered the nerve to talk clearly. “My third kill by myself. Mama had to help at the end but, it was for you. I only ever wanted… Was I selfish to help you?”</p><p>“Rorik was an asshole. I… I don’t judge what you did.”</p><p>Amelia dried her shining tears. “Thank you. Thank you for understanding.” She calmed to smile once more, an all american beauty.</p><p>“I won’t let you be captured, locked up forever. It’s not a way to live.” Matthew finally cut to his point, time more precious than ever. He had half a day at most before this once hidden site was raided. The burnt home was soaked with new blood, and the entire lawn was probably fertilized with Mom’s own set of victims.</p><p>“I can run.” Amelia retorted, sassy once more.</p><p>Matthew looked to her gravely. “Mom ran, and she knew more than both of us.”</p><p>There was a brief childish staring contest, but Amelia backed down. Her shoulders slumped in slight defeat. “Do it then.”</p><p>Matthew took the pistol out of his coat, the handle wrapped in a cloth to avoid fingerprints. “I wasn’t sure if you’d go for it.”</p><p>“You ain’t shit at weapon concealment. Saw it from twenty feet away when you got here.” The sister teased. She took off her own maroon sweater, preparing for her execution. She knew what lay ahead, decades in a mental asylum at best. What Matthew offered was crude, but effective.</p><p>“You remember Mama’s rules?” Amelia spoke up again, scattering her personal things with purpose on the lawn. If the cops were going to believe this, it had to look good.</p><p>“How could I forget?” Matthew started, his one hand wrapped in plastic wrap as it loaded bullets. He couldn’t get so much as a hair on the weapon or he was put away too. His pockets were lined with sandwich bags where the gun was stored earlier. “Rule one, know your prey.”</p><p>“Rule two, prepare before a hunt.” Amelia laid down in practiced pose, one police pathologists associated with suicide. Mama had taught her such knowledge as protection for the inevitable.</p><p>“Rule three, Start and end clean.” Matthew clicked the safety off with trembling hands, emotions bubbling to the surface. He could never compartmentalize like the girls. It was his great weakness, unfiltered empathy.</p><p>“Rule four.” Amelia spoke the last commandment with a heavy tone, ready and waiting for fate. “Kill to protect the family.”</p><p>Matthew lined up his shot, more cloth over the gun muzzle to prevent traceable gunshot residue. He still trembled, but he was okay for a clear shot. His great secret was years of shooting practice with Mom. He could actually take birds out of the sky like apples from trees. “I… I love you big sis’. I’ll protect the family legacy.”</p><p>“I love you too. I know ya will. You were always… Always the smartest of us.” Amelia’s last words were heavy, laden with pride for him. She was just like Mom after all.</p><p>With duty and sorrow, Matthew pulled the trigger.</p>
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